As you may or may not have noticed, the last thing I wrote on this little bloggy blog of mine got passed around, well, quite a bit. It was... new. And freaky. And wonderful. And validating.
And, ultimately... stifling.
Because, quite frankly, I felt pressure. Pressure to write something else that that many people would care to read.
And then you throw in the goings on of everyday life and it's like, "Not only do I have to come up with something great to write about, but I have to find the time to write it?"
And then you struggle coming up with a new routine when your daughter starts a new preschool year.
And then you get slammed with birthday season.
And then you travel a bit.
And then the holidays come.
And then you get pregnant.
And then you throw up (repeat this step often).
And then you start to feel the serious need to do something for yourself, because sanity may not be overrated after all.
And then your mind drifts over to that little blog you love but so often neglect, and you think "Gah, it's been so ridiculously long since I wrote anything. Anything I say is just going to sound lame."
Which quickly becomes "I'm never writing again."
And that makes you sad.
And maybe, if you're lucky, some random Thursday will come when you pick up one of your favorite books and you start rereading it. And you realize that those sadness-inducing voices inside your head just don't have to be there. They're just nasty little gremlins trying to convince you that you're not good enough.
And you'll say, "Gosh dang it, I miss writing on my blog."
And you'll want to write on your blog.
So you do.
And maybe no one will ever visit my blog again, or maybe someday I'll look back at that number of visitors I got on that one day in June and I'll laugh at how big I thought it was.
But it won't really matter either way, because this is for me.