quite right.

I know, it's been awhile. Actually, it's been awhile for awhile. I would like to apologize, but I would also like to say that it's been necessary, or at least I think so. Things here were feeling stale to me. I've grown tired of saying the same thing same thing same thing. It's started feeling a bit whiny, at least in my own ears.

So for these two weeks, I have been running my brain over and over the whole lot and searching for something - a new direction, a new sense of purpose, a new "why" as in why I am writing here and why you might be reading here. No matter the gaps and the absences, I came here as a way to hold myself accountable. And for the most part, it has worked. It would be quite a shame to give up now. I believe, somewhere in me, that I have reached the giving-up-moment, that is the moment when everyone wants to quit. And I believe that the difference between success and failure is getting through this moment and to the other side.

I still don't know quite where to take things, but can I ask you to stick it out?

I have been writing this post for days because I don't know what to say. I don't think anything has resolved itself in my head. I think I might be a fool sometimes for hoping to resolve my thoughts and my purpose and myself. In fact, that might be the thing that paralyzes me most.

Have you ever had a big, stretching, yawning weekend with nothing to do but make a pot of soup and write and somehow all you did was make the pot of soup and didn't write, not one single word? I have. But enough of that.

leaps.

This is what it's like to be an independent lady.

I got to work this morning, wearing one of my four hipster-cool professional outfits. I wore a belt over my shirt in another attempt to make it look like I have more than four hipster-cool professional outfits. Got to work, looked in the mirror, belt looked dumb, took it off. And then I realized my shirt had a hole in it. Not a hole in the armpit or the seam or a tiny hole no one will see. It's a big ass hole right on my stomach where a tiny patch of stomach skin is shining through. It's the kind of hole you get when you wear a shirt over and over and over because you're an independent lady who is out in the world making not-much-money.

The beautiful thing about this day is that I don't care.

Some people love to plan life out. They imagine a big picture and the various twists and turns they hope their lives will take. While I'm a planner to my very core, I hate the big plans. Hate isn't even exactly the right word - I am incapable of planning my life in this way. I have no desire.

You want me to plan a vacation? A grocery list? An independent ladies' dinner? Done.
You want me to plan my life? Not gonna happen.

that barbie feeling.

Do you remember the pure excitement of playing? For me, it was the Barbies. I can still vividly remember that feeling: waking up on a rainy Saturday and knowing I could play with my Barbies all day. Maybe it was Legos, maybe it was a treehouse in the backyard, whatever. You know what I mean. It was a simple and consuming love for what you were doing. That feeling is hard to hold onto.

I have been thinking too much lately; about love, loss, relationships, family, faith, hope. I am forever baffled by the craziness of this life. We are these individual creatures, all alone inside our own brains. And everything, it seems, is about forging connections. Crossing the distances that separate us as human beings.

That balance is elusive. Cultivate and discover yourself; meanwhile, let others in and connect yourself to them. It's hard to get it right. I have been talking with someone lately about times in the past when we have allowed ourselves to be defined by other people. It's so hard to see someone else do it, but so easy to do it yourself. And one day, when that person is gone, suddenly you can't remember what life means without them.

I'm ready to crack the whip and just write. I have spent the past two days thinking about writing something substantial. I don't want to spend the rest of my days freewriting and collecting my mundane thoughts on life (as great as that is). I'm ready to actually lay the bricks down one by one and write something that you can really read.

I am afraid to do it. Whenever I try, I'm strangely evasive. (So I have a collection of posts here on writing about writing about writing...I think). But yesterday, I stared at the notebook on my desk for 10 solid minutes. I just stared at the blank page. I finally wrote in block letters: I KNOW I SHOULD DO IT. There's my answer.

I am always giving advice to people on making life decisions and it usually comes down to this: Do what you want. We all make our own choices. So do what you want.

I am very much lost in my own head these days. It's hard for me to bring people in and to shed light on my own reflection. There's a lot going on, very quietly.

I can't stop thinking about the Barbie feeling. This past weekend, I remarked that I wished we could have that feeling as adults. What a ridiculous thing to say. I know what gives me that feeling. Looking at a wall stacked high with books. Turning pages late into the night. A new pen. Writing nonsense and more nonsense and then suddenly -- there's something real and hard and electrifying. Losing myself in these thoughts and then slowly figuring out how to capture them on the page. I've got the Barbie feeling. So take your own advice and do it.

Every now and then, I am hooked on a thought or an idea. Just after I write it down, I stumble on a writer, a friend, someone who is having the same thought. At the end of the day, that's the best reason I know of to write. Connection.

Yesterday, I wrote:

A good relationship (of any kind) makes you a better version of yourself. It opens you, it gives witness to your passion and life. It lights up who you already are. But it doesn't replace any of that. Life is never, never, never just one thing. It is everything fitting together. I have had to learn this lesson the hard way, over and over. I didn't realize until today, just now, right now, that I think I actually have.

Today, I read on this blog:

It's important to understand that independence is key in preserving the relationships that matter most. [...] People are like puzzles, and there are a multitude of pieces that make us complete.

So I continue: love, write, connect, grow, learn, understand.