This is one of the few constants in my life. When things are uncertain and I’m feeling adrift I try to corral my thoughts and feelings and write, always privately, and then if things are really unsure, I start a blog. I’ve never stuck with it very long, largely because I’m not sure that what I have to say is worthwhile in any public capacity. Sure, I can write in a journal, or talk to family and friends, but on a larger scale, I’m not sure why or how I matter in the world.
I don’t mean that to be dramatic, just that we’re all busy people, trying to navigate screen and sensory overload, all day, every day. I can’t tell you in this moment why or how my voice should become a part of the hubbub, but I need to find a way, once again, to attempt to make sense of the mess (sometimes beautiful, often painful) I continue to make of my life.
I am not a spotlight kind of person, I’d rather watch someone I care about kill at karaoke than do it myself. I like hikes, bikes, books, live music, and good coffee. I like my dog a whole hell of a lot and will walk through fire for a core group of people (and said dog). I knit, bake, and enjoy good cocktails and long conversations (about things that matter and things that don’t). I think words matter, actions matter, and the difference between intentions and perceptions is a sonofabitch. I struggle daily with the dichotomy of want and need. I like to ask random questions like “on a scale of one to douchebag, where does that guy fall based solely on how many buttons on his shirt are undone?” and I think life is better when you can find the humor through the tears. I’d rather be completely, absurdly ridiculous than not.
I don’t think any of this makes me unique, but it’s my experience, and that’s what I know.