Often to write something personal feels like giving away a piece of yourself. But it is rewarding sometimes to be vulnerable and reveal your innermost thoughts.
Lately I find myself so reluctant to do so, and feel like the blog has lost a bit of its soul and that I’m just keeping it going for the sake of it since I’ve been at it for so long. A friend of mine once commented that she missed my older very heartfelt posts.
Sometimes I’m so joyous, and sometimes I’m so down on myself, feeling like such a waste of space. I have these contradictory emotions all the time. Buoyant confidence in the morning and utter despondency at nightfall. Tell me I’m not alone.
I want to do so much and then I’m paralysed by fear, and think why bother because I won’t be successful and the effort will be futile.
What I do know is that no matter how crappy my skills, I need to keep writing. Writing helps me still my world and be more present in the moment. A time for introspection.
I’m grateful for the blog as I like to do it for an audience as well as privately in a journal. Both are comforting in their own ways (that is, minus the hurtful comments you sometimes get in the online world).
I’ll be 45 this year, but what once seemed ancient to me, seems almost strangely youthful and even hopeful. There is still so much I can do and learn.
I guess our perspectives change relative to our current age. It seems so silly to me now when I read blogs where 29 year olds lament turning 30. You’re just a baby, I want to say.