Something interesting has begun to happen without the input of my normal daily life routine. I’m thinking – a lot. In fact, it feels like a dam has been blown apart with a big bundle of dynamite. Millions of gallons of water have been unleashed and are rushing wildly and chaotically forward. Destructive? Don’t know. Exciting? Yes. Scary? Sometimes. Really, more than anything, it feels unfamiliar. My life is so full at home – I feel like I have so many commitments and in the past three years have taken care of and dealt with so much that there’s simply no space to be still and listen to what’s going on in there. Not like this – not at this volume and at this intensity.
What it does do is make me want to write. Voraciously. I sat in bed last night at 2:30am, 3:00am, 3:30am thinking of all the things I wanted to write, how I wanted to write them, what it meant to me to write, what it gives me, and what it demands. And one thing keeps coming up as I write these blog entries: what does it mean to me to be an “honest” writer? For the purposes of this blog, I see the merit of writing in order to create an understanding and a connection. So if I stumble here and there, please forgive. Regardless, it will sure be an interesting process getting there.
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