I struggle with what to put here, in this space, and in the end it often remains blank.
I read just as many blogs as I did a year ago, I just don't do very good at coming up with comments any more. I wonder, do my responses mean anything, are they just ticks in a box so someone can earn more ad dollars and have a nicer cell phone than mine.
I know that I've alluded to "things" off and on for quite a while. Put simply, the last year has been hard. It isn't any one thing, but instead is the culmination of things, some little, some big, all contributing to making things harder than they ought to. At least that's the way I see it.
This is not to say that I am barely functioning, depressed, or even living in a land of no fun ever; because I'm not. There have been wonderfully bright, happy, fulfilling times in the last year. Times that when put in context of all the crap seem to shine brighter than they would have if the crap wouldn't have been there at all.
I'm good, sometimes I'm even great; but I'm dealing with a lot of things that require me to wear my big-girl panties far more than I would like.
Just like it took more than one thing to create the hard, taking care of, recovering from and healing from the hard isn't going to be solved by any one thing either. What strikes me is that ten years ago I would have poured my heart out through words on paper as my first step to good. But I'm a different person today, in many ways because of the hard, in other ways in spite of the hard; and writing doesn't come as easy or doesn't heal the way it used to.
Maybe I'm not entirely ready to heal, maybe I need more time with some of the things... maybe I need to let the hard sit in a box on the highest shelf of my closet and focus on the wonderfully bright, happy, fulfilling things and write about those.
Regardless of what happens I am going to try to write here more. I can feel in my bones that I need to write. Hopefully this promise to myself is worth more than the paper its written on.