Last year I decided that spending time trying to think of blog post names was unnecessary.  The point, I rationed with myself, was that I needed to blog.  And I needed to do it more consistently.  I could write about anything or nothing but I had to write.

Those are my parameters this year – I just need to write.  I need to be consistent.  I need to remember how to be disciplined.  To introduce, provide content and then summarize everything in a tidy conclusion.  Some of my posts last year did that – some were even good.  What mattered to me was that they existed.  That was all.  And that’s what still matters — although the good ones do make me a little proud.

Today, as we drove from one house to another, certain thought patterns played over and over again in my head.  Pennsylvania countryside sliding by, bright winter sunshine and frigid temperatures.  Chris Stapleton in the background.  I thought about how I didn’t acknowledge the new year, how I didn’t acknowledge Ben’s last Pittsburgh home game.  How would people know that it mattered to me if I didn’t post on social?   How would they know?!?

And then I reminded myself that people — whoever they are — don’t need to know and I don’t need to tell them.  It doesn’t matter if strangers see a social media post of mine proclaiming a great afternoon lunch or a sports team allegiance.  My life should just be my own and my joy should come from my own genuine enjoyment of whatever I am doing — without the need to tell the world and — either consciously o r unconsciously — ask for ‘likes’.

It’s a very hard lesson.  I haven’t successfully learned it.  I find comfort in the feedback — the public’s approval of my curated online life.

Blogging feels different for me – a little piece of my soul, my words.  And people don’t read blogs anymore, anyway.  Too much content, too much time commitment.  Twitter is better – podcasts are better.

That’s okay.  I find comfort in writing.  I find comfort in screaming into my particular void — this blog, this platform that no one reads.  (Well, I read it.  It’s like re-visiting different versions of myself through time).

Anyway.  We’re ‘home’.  Y’know, our other home.  Which is weird but also joyful.  Tomorrow life revs its engine and Thursday it shifts into gear.  Back into routine, husby back to work.  Me back to trying to figure out what I’m doing and what I’m working toward.

Don’t worry, I’m figuring it out.  🙂

xox, g