Stocking the pond

My blog stopped sending notification to my 100 subscribers, whenever I posted. Some plug-in updates just didn’t work anymore. I didn’t try too hard to fix it, because I didn’t mind it. I felt free to dump my thoughts without thinking that I’m bothering others with the purging of my mind. (Though people are free to unsubscribe.)

All of a sudden, the last post about honest gratitude sent a notification. And friends responded, with resonating connection, encouraging me beyond my hopes. 

I’m in survival mode. My creativity is stagnant. My writing is lame. Too raw to enjoy it as I re-read it right away. 

But I keep doing it. 

And then I publish it too. 

I’m a glutton for punishment it seems. Or what is my deal‽ 

Do I have no shame? …Because I do care how I present myself in the world. 

I rarely shared pictures this year, though I still take thousands of them. And even though, the pretty pictures we take, the ones we let fly the nest, when they come back at anniversary moments, make us remember the good times. Such good times… I almost forget the hard, difficult parts. 

Writing is different. I feel encouraged when I read the past hard times. Because I survived them and grew from them. 

So I think I keep writing because I hope to polish my blade. Blindly. I also need to let it all out. My head is stuffed. Sometimes I just throw stuff out the window in a disorganized manner, chased by kids, and chasing dinners, homework, dr appointments… 

This I wrote to my encouraging friend… 

“A year of erratic writing. I can’t polish my thoughts to save my life because there is no time and space to do it, but my ideas come raw so I let them fly into the blog. Just like that.

One day I’ll sort them out. 

Today my parents stoped by before dinner. As we were socializing in the kitchen, I was mixing a sauce on the stove, Jackie wanted to read us a psalm at the table. 

Life was happening I was making dinner and Conrad was playing in the living room with ivy, who was giggling joyously… a clear thought popped into my head: “this is a beautiful, perfect moment.” 

And it was. 

No induced gratitude. 

Just the realization of it.”