It’s been a while since I’ve logged in. Even longer since I’ve strung words together in a coherent manner. I last wrote at the beginning of summer vacation with promises to fully enjoy my children, the sun, the sand, the ocean air in my lungs.
We enjoyed it all. The ice cream down our faces, the sun until our skin peeled, the sand tracked everywhere—sand that I’m still finding in random places, all these months later. I set it all down with the promise of promptly picking it back up when the littles went back to school.
But then our house flooded and we were living in what felt like a never-ending construction zone. And then there was a retreat and a trip out of town and there were guests and trips to see the fall foliage and costume shopping and visits with friends and laundry and dishes and and and…
Suddenly, I realized that summer is so very over and here we are knee-deep into fall and the writing has just stopped, dried up. I promised a few of my faithful followers to stay-tuned, the hush of the blogosphere was so that I could focus my efforts on my book. I dutifully sat down to finish Bloom and stared at the words piled upon words and felt riddled with self-doubt. “Why am I even writing?” I challenged myself, questioned my motives, attacked my own ego.
I can think of about a thousand things I need to do right now, finish planning that party I’m hosting, write all my thank you cards that are years overdue, finally re-paint our bedroom, sort and wash the laundry, catch up with that friend who needs encouragement, make those phone calls.
The list is truly endless.
This journey began as I sat at my computer nearly two years ago. I sat in Emily P. Freeman’s “HopeWriters” workshop and she said something so brutally honest it caused water to spill out of my eyeballs. “The world needs to you come to life.”
Lately, I’ve been looking at the world with agony and a pit in my stomach. I have hope through my faith, and yet I stare out and am completely broken by our brokenness. My heart breaks in unexplainable ways for the people of this world, for those who suffer, endure tragedy, for those left behind. I want to weep and carry their pain, and then I also want to find a rock to hide under.
I can allow this empathy to swallow me whole. I can sink into it and never resurface, and while empathy comes from love, losing oneself to it is the antithesis of coming to life.
And so, while this world is a hard place to find breath in, and while I struggle with self-doubt and ego and constant busy-ness I’ve realized that I have to remain committed to the process. These words are my process, they are my gift to myself and something to share with you who has chosen to read them. I’ve missed you and them, so I’m back, welcoming myself, with a little more grace and tenderness. It feels good to be here, alive and breathing.
photo credit: @elijahsad unsplash