There are times in life when it feels like it’s all you can do to take it one day at a time. When the world puts you in reaction mode, one mini-crisis to the next, and your waking hours consist entirely of parrying the attacks. And not forgetting to breathe. Out and in, out and in, and out and in.
Those times are also when I’m most motivated to write. Poetry. Journal entries. Diatribes to my best(est) friends in the universe. Writing is my therapy — highly effective therapy, I might add, as I don’t have to force myself to do it. I need to do it, the same way fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly. Which is the main reason why I comfortably describe myself as a writer in casual conversation and social media bios. Not that I’m a professional writer — although technically, I’m paid to write corporate stuff — but more that I simply write. A lot. Ergo, writer.
Then again, maybe I don’t.
I’m talking about the times when there are huge patches — gaps — in the vast libraries of my scratchings and scrawlings, representing periods of my life when I have felt the most alive, the most badass. Times like those, I don’t necessarily need the catharsis of writing it all down. I’m too busy living to take a minute to stop and document it.
Then along came our modern-day Dark Times — aka the pandemic — which led to a decision to purchase a domain on WordPress, due to the significant increase of time on my hands.
And an opportunity to write about all those good times.
So I guess I just wanted to take the time, and say to the blogosphere, thanks for the opportunity to share my journeys, my art, and my wacky miscellany. I’ve recently had a period where I’ve been feeling just a little more badass, and just a little less in need of processing through pounding out paragraphs, but reports of my leaving this blog behind have been greatly exaggerated. I have every intention to keep this up, time permitting, and am so grateful that you’re giving me a bit of your time to come by and read.
(And thus it continues …)