It’s been another long break from blogging. Yes, it’s September. Yes, the nights are closing in (though I’m trying not to notice that too much).
Where to begin? Not sure so much where, but actually beginning, that is the trick. One I’ve been avoiding for a while.
Time has marched on, and suddenly there’s some extra space for me in the day. Yes, it’s already getting filled up (though hopefully not too much).
No, I haven’t finished all the painting yet – or all the things on my List to Do. But I got most of the fence done. That helps. Little by little.
I met a friend this last week. We got in some chatting time. 40 is around the corner for her, and she is thinking about what she wants life to be like in the new decade.
40 has been and gone for me. I had my intentions too, and they were generally around writing. I did a big burst of it last year, and there hasn’t been much this year at all.
I found myself thinking about I’d wanted to do. What I still want to do, even if I tell myself I don’t really know what to write about at the moment.
(I don’t. But it’s OK. I’m working on that too.)
I could write a much longer post about why I haven’t written – and actually, it wouldn’t be that much fun to read. Or even to get out onto the screen, for me. So I’ll leave it between us that there have been reasons why.
So it’s back to writing warm up. Finger flex, arm stretch. We’ll focus on breathing, maybe, and what that looks like in writing.
(Paragraph breaks, mostly.)
I cast around for a title for this post, and found myself thinking of a children’s song:
“There was an old man called Michael Finnegan
He grew whiskers on his chin-egan
The wind came up and blew them in-again
Poor old Michael Finnegan, begin again”
I think I will leave the beard growing to others.
But perhaps the wind will blow my words about a bit, inside and out, and help me find new life for them.
And new life for me, too, in setting them out to air.