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Keep swimming: The water will hold you. Image here.
I'm not really sure why I keep a blog, other than sometimes, I enjoy having a place to write things down and feel like I've shared them. It's like a message in bottle, in that I publish each post fully assuming it's gone "out to sea." I basically treat this space as a form of journal, and I write whatever I feel like, when I want to.
I've been wondering lately if I should attempt to be a "real" blogger--actively comment elsewhere, seek readership here, plan posts, build stats. To feel like I have a place on this overcrowded dance floor, instead of hanging out in the corner wishing I'd never showed up to the party in the first place.
But I really don't want to. I want to be a person with a blog; not a blogger.
I'm the kind of adult that would always rather sit at the kids' table, even now that I have a kid. I love love love being Caleb's mom. But I can't help feeling like there's something else I should be doing, and that it'd be nice if maybe one day, that thing could also generate an income. (For right now, in addition to loving on Cabey Baby, I take care of another little person three days a week.)
So it makes sense that, mere moments ago, I sat here on the couch and mentally screamed:
WHAT IS IT YOU'RE ASKING OF ME, UNIVERSE?!?!?
I screamed it so silently and so hard that my heart hurt and tears welled up.
This is what I got back:
What is being asked of you?
To stop. To notice.
To sit quietly and look at the trees outside those living room windows, until you realize just how grateful you are for an entire wall of windows that allows dappled light to shine in through brilliant yellow leaves.
Breathe.
Enjoy the quiet of cars passing and keys tapping as the baby naps. The sounds of silence. This is all there is. Recognize how beautiful this is, and that it is enough. Cultivate a thankful heart, one that acknowledges abundance and has no fear of the next step. There will always be a next step, and you'll know what it is when it's time to take it.
For now, you are here. Be still and know. Sometimes it's OK to hold still. It doesn't mean you've stopped climbing.
"The artist finds the beauty sleeping in all things." And you are an artist. Even if no one else sees. Just as you are a writer, even if no one is reading. So be still, and notice.
All shall be well.
