It's Been a While

And I can't say why except that the longer my little blog sits unattended, the harder it is to dive in again.  So here I am, putting something down to at least alleviate the, albeit false, perception of pressure.

I think to some degree I'm dizzy with my newfound freedom.  Both kids are in school now: Ben everyday until 1:15 and Abby three mornings a week.  This time alone without the soundtrack of questions and needs and observations still feels novel, and there's so much I want to squeeze into that time, it's hard to know where to start.

Perhaps more significant is my confusion over what this blog is about, or more precisely, who it's for.  When I began writing a little over a year ago, I wrote what I felt compelled to write.  I wrote about the moments and thoughts and incidents that grabbed my heart, and I wrote it as truly as I could, without regard for what someone on the other side of the screen might think.  What is true about this? I would ask myself--and then sit down to make sense of it in words, the writing and the discovery one in the same.

The fact that others could identify or find encouragement in this space left me giddy, though.  Writing is infinitely more satisfying when shared.  But I realized that satisfaction had to be secondary to the process in order for me to remain honest, or at least as honest as I know how to be in this season.  I knew if I thought too much about who might be reading, I might be tempted to censor or omit ideas or thoughts.  

Lately, though, as I think about trying to "earn some allowance" writing for magazines or other venues, I find myself conflicted.  I have no clips--no official record of my writing as commodity--and so I wonder if I should send editors or folks interested in my work here.  But here, I do not write commercial pieces about how to be a better mom in ten easy steps.  Here I delve into matters of my heart, and my kids' hearts, in light of the Grace I've come to know, and while I certainly have no problem with people reading these thoughts, it's not exactly the kind of subject matter you throw at people in a professional context.

So then I find myself torn--between working towards an allowance, which is probably poor motivation indeed, and sharing my heart.  And then I wonder if there has to be a difference between the two.  Maybe.  Probably.  I don't know.

What I do know is that thinking about the hypothetical editor on the other side of this screen stymies the muse.  Traps me in self-consciousness.  I know for a fact that the times I write best are the times when I can't help but string words into sentences into paragraphs into stories for the love of the process, the craft, and the Meaning that begs me to find it.  

Paradoxically, though, when I'm not worried about an allowance, the thought of someone on the other side of this screen motivates me to continue. Last night, in my confusion and frustration, I shared with friends that I hadn't written here in weeks and wasn't sure how to spend my time--and I asked them to pray.  This afternoon, I received an email from a mom who reads my blog over her brief lunch break on the one day a week she works, and she shared that these words mean something to her.  It's funny--I've actually had several people mention my blog in the last week or so as I've wrestled with what I'm doing and say that they've shared it with someone or mentioned it to a friend.  So I'll take it as a sign.

She, you, gave me the impetus to sit down this afternoon while the kids rest and write something.  This.  Me.  Today.  Unsolved, in process, without the trimmings of lessons learned.  Her words helped me to get over myself, really, and write--in remembrance of who I am and why I'm here and what I love.

Thanks for being patient while I figure it all out.