Why exactly am I writing again?

I have often wondered why I took such an extended hiatus from blogging. There’s a number of reasons I used to justify my decision, from- such as no-one reads this anyway, to I am a lousy writer.

Why is it that I often see something and think ‘oh wouldn’t this be a charming blog post’ but then the moment came and went. I must say one thing in my defense, until a few weeks ago, I had next to no access to this lap top. My daughter held it with an iron grip and it was only when she got a new one for college that I got it back. It was like opening a time capsule and I spent a great deal of time deleting old bookmarks and files. A large amount went to blogs, sites and articles no longer existing, and many no longer relevant. We no longer homeschool, and easily 50% of the bookmarks and 80% of the files were pertaining to that part of our life. Missy is headed to College, and Bear will be in 8th grade in our local public school.

So, why have I started writing again? Maybe because I stopped playing so many online games? Hahah, it could be, but that sounds a tad too simplistic, particularly since I have left all except one two years ago. So, again, why?

Candidly I see myself undergoing a transformation. Somehow I see a change in many of my habits, and how I view my life. And with that transformation a return to some of the constants in my life, writing being one of them. I don’t expect any readers, I mean it would be nice, but let’s be honest, I lack the stunning ability of my daughter. She’s only just turned 18 in February and has three or four writing jobs, one of which is paying, has a paid editing job on a book, and is working on a book deal for her poetry which is amazing. So, again, why am I writing? Probably because it holds me to my creative roots, and forces me to use my brain in a non automated fashion. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever gone through an entire day and realized come evening that you have no idea how you got there because you did it all on autopilot? I want to stop living on autopilot. I am 49 years old in a few days and I have fewer days ahead of me than behind me. That realization is a hard one and I decided that there’s precious little point crying about it and bemoaning the fact. But I can make the best of my days by reading books I enjoy, taking care of my home and family, making crafts, and being an attentive friend.

The fish are my husband’s. I care nothing for them. The flowers are mostly his as well. I prefer growing veggies, but can’t in this fancy-schmancy house.


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