For a couple of years now I have been wanting to start a blog, but have always found a reason not to do so. Those who know me best know that I am an avid writer, but that what I write is generally for my eyes only. My diaries are my brand of therapy; offline, pen to paper, I write to process feelings of challenge and inspiration, to spin failure into strength, to itemize all that I have for which to feel grateful. It’s a creative outlet, an opportunity to remember how to spell without autocorrect and to emote without emojis, to reacquaint myself with my messy handwriting. I write when I’m so happy I just want to document its every cause, its every sensation, so as to perhaps immortalize the feeling. And I write when I’m feeling sad, to parse through my darker thoughts to determine whence they come and what to do with them when they arrive.
The past two years have been full of my life’s greatest joys and greatest challenges, and with them far-flung emotions. But I have been reluctant to share them, always stopped by the thought, “Who would want to read this?” Naturally, no one wants to read a litany of complaints, nor does anyone want to be subjected to a treatise on The Joys of Being Me. But I do know what a comfort it can be to read something real from time to time, and how nice it is on occasion to glimpse into the life of a stranger and learn that he or she is like me. So, I’ll just share. In the meantime, I thank you for visiting this space and for reading these words. And if someone out there were to connect with any of it, I’d be so pleased.