I never wanted to be a “blogger”. In fact, in all honesty, up until a few years ago when my sister began blogging about her struggles and victories as a foster and adoptive mom (http://thelinejourney.blogspot.com/), I thought (rather naively) that the only reason people shared such deep and touching moments with the general public was to get some kind of attention or somehow have their experiences validated by getting nods of approval, OR that folks blogged for professional gain. Well, I was wrong. I’ve never been wrong before, so that was a surprise to me, too.
[insert eye rolling and laughter here]
I used to try and “journal”. I’d go to Barnes and Noble and buy the prettiest little notebook with a bright floral or paisley print, maybe a new gel pen – heck, maybe a whole set of colored gel pens, ya’ know – so I could write in different colors based on varying moods. Then I’d ice that pretty little cake with a few highlighters, just in case I needed to emphasize a particular part of a story. Er… to myself I guess?
But, I never kept it up. In fact, my past was such a potpourri of my own perceived failures that when I’d go back and read the BS it was so jolting and embarrassing that I’d shred those pages – burn them – bury them – whatever I had to do to make them permanently go away, as if that would somehow Control-Alt-Delete my life.
I never stopped telling the stories in my mind, though. Nobody does. We drive long distances to work and retell and recreate the past, we plan and act out events in the future. We line everything up neatly so that we don’t continue to make the same mistakes. In those moments in our thoughts we love the deepest, we are the most patient parents, we are the most dedicated employees, and of course we are the winners of all arguments.
So, I don’t want to blog about the things of the past, although some of it will come up as it relates to my being a grandmother and reflecting on my days as a young mom. Instead, I want to use these words to sort out these thoughts in the present, the hopes for the future; and in the interim if you’d like to laugh with me, cry with me, or even pat yourself on the back for doing things differently, please do.
Here I am, the dreaded blogger.