I think I want to shut down this blog. Maybe it is the cold winter days, or the life space I am in, or the emotional rut I seem to be trudging, but I'm just not feeling it.
I can remember being a new mother, standing in the shower, turning a phrase over and over in my head, internally writing a piece, crafting it, sanding down the rough edges, until it fit in my mind like a smooth egg, ready to release.
These days I sometimes dash off some lines of thought, unedited, unconsidered. Though I have the time to do so, I've lost the writing in my head part, the wooing of the words to dance for my pleasure.
My children are growing up, and it feels like the right time to keep their stories more private.
I am at a stalemated transition of stay-at-home-parenting meets return to the workforce. We are also in some eternal suspension of "trying to get licenced for foster care". It seems as if we never will.
There are a few bloggers I've loved over the years, who have made their exit amidst an overflow of comments (mine included) begging them to stay, to continue to share their voice and their perspective. I'm not looking for that. I'm not writing this to solicit such comments.
When I think about my blog, a soulful voice rises in my head, "the thrill is gone...the thrill has gone away" croons B.B. King.
I know three specific people who will be disappointed if I close up shop. My mother (bless her), my mother-in-law (how nice), and my sister (sisters!), are my biggest fans. That says great things about the support of my family, but doesn't speak well to the success of my readership! If I do shut the blog down, I'll miss having an outlet to share. Life can be so lonely sometimes and this blog is a place where it feels safe to reach out into the void. Sometimes just saying things out loud helps, and this place is that for me.
From Australia it was the trumpet that carried my words to America. From America it is the folded paper wings that carry my days and thoughts to my friends back home in Sydney. This is my bridge. This is my catapult.
It's just that I now question whether in this season, I have enough to launch across the void?
In this era of social media, I value making a comment, posting a status update, and feeling that I have "shared". In that climate, I have lost my love of word craft. I have lost my connection to writing. I have forgotten how to read.
I "read" skimming, scrolling, clicking away, seldom ingesting, digesting, processing, absorbing.
This has got to change. I need to sink my teeth into my own ideas, and those of others. I need to distance myself from this quick public culture I have joined.
I wonder if walking away from the blog, getting back to the pen and paper journal, will result in a bottling up and more pressing need to hone my thoughts down to that smooth egg again? I want my words to become more precious, and the sharing of them more earned.
The thing that keeps me from leaving, each time I think I am ready, is remembering the early days when blogging really did feel like a community. It is thinking about how other women sharing their stories has deeply impacted my life time and time again, and the bloggers I read who leave me sitting in stunned silence, absorbing their brilliance after the final full stop. It is wondering how my connection to friends who use this as a window into my life, will stay connected to me and I to them?
Tonight I want to close the blog, and I'm in love with it still. Like my life at the moment, the flash between light and shadow can be disorienting, and I don't know where I'll stop. Tonight, I'm just thinking.
PS- I may also be having a mid thirties crisis. Is that a thing?
PPS - (Please, please, I am not fishing for comments of support. I know which of you love me and love this space, and I love you too!)