Lately I've been feeling sort of distant from my blog. It's nothing dramatic; I simply don't get the urge to write as much as I used to. It's okay. I know these things ebb and flow.
But as I near the two year mark, I'm reflecting on the gifts this blog has given me, and the gifts are plentiful.
Two years ago I didn't have unbelieveable friendships with these talented, warm, generous women. They have changed my life forever:
Yeah. She's that awesome.
Can I take a minute to talk about Heather? She loves it when I gush about her ... (not). Heather was the first bloggy friend I made, and I still wonder how on earth I got so lucky. She is smart, funny, loving and authentic. She sparkles. Because of Heather, over the past year I have jogged through Central Park in a TuTu, sat in a Yurt on a mountainside in California and flash mobbed in Nashville. Not to mention countless (and sometimes ass-saving) giggling phone calls. She is a touchstone, a lifeline and a creative kindred spirit. I love her to pieces.
Two years ago I was almost two years sober, and only beginning to find some peace of mind, some clarity, a slice of sunshine through the fog. One day I spontaneously sat down at my keyboard, googled "blogging" and jumped in without the slightest clue about anything. I see that moment now as some kind of divine intervention, a God nudge of sorts, because being able to write in this space has been so healing for me. Writing here helped me find my footing, my authenticity, my voice.
Two years ago I was feeling the doldrums of sobriety, 65 lbs overweight, and embarking on a journey inward, although I didn't know it then. Bit by bit I started getting honest, getting real, and pouring my feelings out onto the keyboard.
I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being here to listen. Your comments, your emails, tweets and facebook posts mean a lot to me. Thank you for trusting me with your truths, too. Your voices matter. So much.
Thank you for supporting my little jewelry business, for sending notes of encouragement, tweeting and facebooking about my shop and helping to spread the word. I'm hoping it's what I can do for work, full time, when Finn is in Kindergarten next year, and all of you are a big part of helping me realize that dream.
Thank you for helping me build Crying Out Now. Even more than this blog, Crying Out Now is near and dear to my heart, and it is reaching thousands of women across the globe. I wish I could share some of the emails I get from women thanking the team at Crying Out Now for giving them a safe place to explore, ask themselves some hard questions, find a sense of community and hope. It is growing by leaps and bounds, and I couldn't do it without your support.
Lately, as I said, I've been flailing a bit about what to write here. Each time I sit down at the keyboard I think: but I already talked about that. A lot of the things I've been working on over the past couple of years are stable, at least at the moment, like my sobriety and my weight loss. It is an astonishing amount of work to achieve stable, I'm learning, but I'm fearful of sounding like a broken record, so lately I've been giving those topics a bit of a breather.
It occurred to me today, as I was pondering what to say in my blogoversary post, that what I've been doing lately instead of writing a lot, is living. I am in a peaceful place, an ordinary place, and for the first time in a long time I'm wallowing in the regularness (that's totally a word) of it all. Or at least I'm trying to.
And, it turns out, regularness is hard work, too. I'm trying to lean into gratitude, away from negativity and focus on the gifts.
Like today. Just a regular Saturday, but oh - it was so full of gifts: Greta scoring two goals in her soccer game, and saving several more playing goalie for the first time ever. Her proud chocolate-covered smile as she devoured a celebratory ice cream. The kids splashing in the water at the beach - the BEACH - when one week ago we were shivering in the drizzling rain. Watching them laugh with friends, build a hermit crab hotel and then squealing as the tide came in and swept it away.
The blogger in me was writing a post - like a ticker-tape in the back of my mind - for each of these moments. I used to beat myself up about it, wonder if the blogging was robbing me of being in the moment. I realize now, though, that blogging helps me metabolize these moments, capture their simplicity and their beauty in a way that I never could, before.
I am trying to live - and write - with a grateful heart.
Thank you for being on this journey with me. I'm so glad you're here.