I’m not dead. By the lack of posts here in the last week or so, you might think otherwise, but I’m not dead. It does seem that the quest to blog for a year is dead – at least for the moment.
See, what happened was, is I got really busy with Scope Magazine. I mean, REALLY busy. It’s like a full time job being a magazine editor, on top of my actual full time job, on top of being a parent and having a life and writing and reading as much as I do. As it happens, the first thing to go is usually the blogging. So a day passed without me posting, and then another, and then another, and now it’s been, well, too long, I guess.
I admit, I am disappointed in myself for letting it go so long, especially after months of daily posting, but I am not going to let it get to me too much. Because really, working for Scope is making everything about my life lately just better in general. I’ve met new people that I really connect with and enjoy spending time with, I’ve reconnected with an old friend that I never really thought I’d see or talk to again, I’m working on something creative with like-minded individuals, which is something I’ve been wanting to happen in my life for ages.. And people are proud of me. Or impressed. Or both, as it were. I have people I barely know coming up to me and congratulating me on the job. I have people I don’t know AT ALL coming up and introducing themselves to me because they want to connect with the magazine. I’ve found this new… sense of purpose, I guess. At least I found something to do that really validates ME. Something that I am proud of and happy about, something that I can throw myself into even after spending so much time throwing so many other things and people out of my life.
That, really, is the best thing. It’s been months since I’ve felt like I’ve been wasting time doing things I want to be doing, and that in itself is an astounding award. Lately, I have been able to do what I wanted: pay attention to the small pleasures. I just finished crocheting Elise’s blanket that I’ve been working on for two years, I’ve partied til the break of dawn, I screwed the diet and ate peanut butter and fluff sandwiches with glee, and I’ve been singing Britney Spears songs at the top of my lungs until my throat goes raw. I think I’ve said “I love you” enough to the right people, and certainly haven’t said anything that I didn’t mean.
What I’ve been is startlingly alive in a place that for so long has felt very dead, and what I’ve done is, I found myself living parallel to the way that my head has been saying it doesn’t know how to comprehend, and I’m not sure what things are going to change from this moment on.
All I can say is that I really don’t know what to say, because I’m pushing upward while looking downward and it’s funny to me that I’m plunging happily through my experiences at the same time that I’m struggling with self-doubt larger than I’ve dealt with in a long time. I’ve reached that annoying point where those words ring out so beautifully and I’d love to start a day born without regret, but I’m not stupid enough to think that it’s possible anymore.
There is always going to be something that I am doing wrong in someone’s eyes, there is always something that I could be doing better – there is always going to be that nagging feeling that whatever it is, it’s never enough. I guess I’m tired of this space being one of them.