Today has seemed a bit off and slightly out of balance. Doctors warn against suddenly stopping taking medication, and I wonder if suddenly stopping blogging can have the same effects.
I’ve felt like I forgot to say good morning to my friends. A couple of you have mentioned that you missed getting the early morning email saying there was a new post. I told Larry at the breakfast table that I felt almost guilty for not writing first thing this morning.
The simple fact is I couldn’t make it through the full day. I had a few moments between one thing and the next, and the most natural response seemed to be clicking on my WordPress app and dashing off a post.
There are worse things for a writer, I imagine, than wanting to write, worse addictions than a blog. A tiny portion of my mind wonders if it is just a tried and true way to procrastinate, but who has time to worry about that? I’ve got to run to get to my evening plans.
One of my favorite quotes says, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Well, that journey ends with a single step, too.
Today, I’m taking that step. One year has gone by since I began this daily writing commitment. I have passed through happy days and the worst days and written my way through it all.
Yesterday, I looked back a little, reflecting on the journey and being thankful for each of you. Today, the day I’d expected to be about endings, is really about the future.
I’ve been asked more than once if I will keep writing. The answer is yes. I don’t expect to blog every day, but the discipline of writing every day is a good one and requires further cultivation. But this challenge has focused my writing on this one thing rather than other projects that are now calling.
I’m ready to see what I have to say.
I really love the movie You’ve Got Mail. It’s one of those that I will record every time it is own and watch it again and again.
Meg Ryan’s character, writing to a person she only knows through the Internet, says [in an email to Joe Fox], “The odd thing about this form of communication is that you’re more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.”
Tomorrow is the final day of my 366-day writing challenge, and I’ve been reflecting a lot on the nothings I have shared. Some posts, a handful or two I think, actually hit the mark i had in my mind. I won’t reread them before saying that for fear that I’m just misremembering with rose-colored glasses.
Many more, too many I fear, simply hit the mark of “that will do for today.” Others don’t even tell half the story.
Some, when I read them now, bring hot tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat, they are things read through a new lens. Others capture moments of struggle with things like fear that I continue to face.
My point — if I have one — is that my journey has been just that, sometimes meandering, sometimes clicking along at the speed limit, hopefully getting somewhere other than “just another year older and deeper in debt,” as Tennessee Ernie Ford used to sing.
All of this nothing has meant a lot to me, and I am so thankful that you’ve been with me on this journey.
Larry and I did a little shopping yesterday afternoon and then went out for dinner. As we were hurrying down the street to and fro on our way to the restaurant and back, we walked in a cold rain.
This is the rain m for which we’ve prayed. We’ve pleaded with God to send rain and we are thankful for it. Yet, on that walk and during our drive, we did gripe a little about this blessing. It was cold and it made it hard to see. Oh, we’d stop ourselves occasionally and add that we were thankful for it, but somehow it seemed to have dampened our spirits a bit.
And I thought of the Children of Israel, freshly delivered from Egypt, griping about food and water. I bet they even complained about the weather. It was hot. It was cold. It was too dry, then too wet.
I am truly grateful for the relief from the drought that this rain brings and for the rain itself, cleansing, restoring. I just need to remember to show it.
I’ve wanted a KitchenAid Mixer for years. I’ve looked at them in stores, tracked prices online, and more or less been an admirer from afar. Well, this year Christmas money from my inlaws coincided perfectly with the Cyber Monday Deal to End All Deals, and I’m now the proud owner of one of the pro series models.
I’m completely intimidated.
It’s there on the counter, fresh from its box, looking all red and silver and shiny. And I’m all read up on dozens of cookie recipes, but I haven’t found the one that seems perfectly fitted to my new friend.
It’s a good problem to have and I hope to have overcome my fear by the end of the weekend (I would say day, but this one is shaping up to be busy). Still, I feel sort of like I have Julia Child visiting to help me cook.