It’s been a minute since I wrote last on this blog. Back in 2017 I had dreams, big ones. I was going to write every single day and my writing would be evocative and people would flock to my blog daily to read my words. Flash forward to 2020, and here I am wondering what went awry. I could say it was time, after all I AM very busy. But that’s a cop-out and I realized it this morning while on my run.
I’m training for a 5K (yes, when you’ve lived your life as a couch potato, you have to train to run three point one miles) and while on my long run this morning (yes, when your potato life has left you remarkably out of shape, you do have long runs that aren’t yet three point one miles) I started thinking about why I left my writing behind. I think I figured it out. I was writing for the wrong reason. This type of writing isn’t for you-it’s for me. I had my audience all wrong. It’s kind of like this 5K I’m training for; I’m not doing it for anyone other than myself. When I was writing for others, I constantly worried about readers judging my syntax, my grammar, and my conventions. I was so worried and I quit.
But now I know better. This writing is for me. It’s to sort out the thoughts in my head, ruminate over the days’ outcomes, and just put on paper what’s on my mind. That’s it. So if you’re reading this, then welcome to my thinking.