Or is it the blogosphere? Either way, my joining seems a little late in the game. I mean, I had a xanga several years ago, and thoroughly enjoyed the more consistent writing that resulted from the knowledge that people, however few, were reading what I wrote. In the years since, I have halfheartedly committed to re-establishing myself as a writer, but with little to no followup. I’ve been busy. I got married a little over a year and a half ago, moved to a new city, and found myself desperately trying to maintain some semblence of the life I wanted while navigating a new church, no friends, a hellish work schedule, and, to top it all off, writer’s block.
In recent months, I’ve returned to the conviction that, in order for me to be more thoroughly myself, I must write. No more waiting for writer’s block to end, or my life to smooth itself out. Now, while some of the items on the previous list have resolved themselves (we have made friends, and I now have an inconvenient, rather than hellish, work schedule) others have risen to take their places. My husband and I are having a baby, who will arrive on the scene whether we are ready or not in fifteen short weeks. We have no room for said child in our 528 square foot apartment, so we are attempting to buy a house, which is a fun and complicated project. We may move into a different apartment, we may move into a house. We may move in a month, we may move in seven. I may continue to work at my current job post-baby, I may find a different job. In short, lest your eyes glaze over as you read the long list of things that may or may not happen in the next four to 28 weeks and you stop reading, never to return again, my life is increasingly uncertain and up in the air.
A professor of mine often said “To write, you must read.” To his adage, I would add the statement “To write, you must write.” And I’m starting today, for many reasons. I don’t want to lose myself or my ability in the craziness that is life. I also don’t want to forget the craziness, and in years hence look back on a muddled few years, uncertain as to how it all worked out in the end. Uncertainty and insanity notwithstanding, this is my life. It’s exciting and new, and I want to write about it. And while I wish I could say my little black journal is as motivating as actual type on a screen, it’s not. People, even phantom people, reading what I write is motivating.
So that is that. And that’s why I’m blogging now.