I keep opening up this blog and staring at the screen. I have several posts in draft that I either never return to or the urge or fury that compelled me to start abates, and I no longer remember what I wanted to say. I shrug and close the browser.
Or maybe it is the busy-ness of work (constantly wild) and parenting (roller coaster) and life (never dull). Although I think I read I’m not supposed to talk about how “busy” I am? That “busy” is condescending. One author even wrote that we aren’t as busy as we think we are, which infuriated me when I read it but not enough to come here and post a diatribe to rebut her words.
Or maybe it is the weight of things I want to say but remain unsaid or how quickly each day seems to pass until I look up and notice that the calendar is months ahead of where I feel it should be.
Or maybe it is that I don’t think I have anything to say that hasn’t already been said a million other times by a million other people. Especially when I seem to end many days feeling like I didn’t do my best and if I did, my best isn’t good enough.
I ran into a former coworker today when I went to get a flu shot. We hugged and exchanged pleasantries – it had been a while since we had seen each other. And then she told me how often she thought about me and how grateful she was for the help I gave her and the distraction of employment during a terrible, awful time in her family’s life. She reads this blog on occasion, so I will be vague (Hi!).
I didn’t think I did all that much – I gave her a shoulder to cry on, a calm environment, and work in which she could lose herself. But it made a huge difference to her and for that I am grateful and honored.
Thank you for sharing that with me. It was just what I needed to hear.