It’s been a very long time since I’ve posted to this blog. Since I gave birth to my first child in 2017, I have posted just once. Stories of all sorts that I’d love to share are always swirling in my mind. But I never seem to get them down on paper. My husband is way better at doing this sort of stuff and even as we speak, he is writing a post for his own blog.

I have tons and tons of excuses – or maybe not excuses, but more explanations as to why I don’t post as frequently as I could. I should be doing more professional writing for the website for my psychotherapy practice. In the last year that I have been a one-man-band in my own practice, I’ve learned more about websites and SEO (yawn) and marketing and even I’m getting drowsy typing out some of the business-y things that go into being a solo act. So sometimes when I think of things to share here, I sort of sigh and say, well, maybe the time would be better spent putting together something for that other website.

Then there’s also the creative block sort of business that I deal with that seems to be getting harder and harder to get over. One of my favorite books of all time is The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It’s hard as hell, both in terms of commitment (if you do it the way its intended), but also in facing some of the emotional brick walls that we all face when we know we have some creative stuff inside us and it just won’t come out. I’ve been a life-long journal-keeper and try to write everyday. I’ve maintained that practice within a few days of having our child and I continue to do so as often as I can.

But I struggle with the desire to be more creative and have been battling with a memoir for a number of years now. I have a story inside myself and in various notebooks and Word documents on my computer. I don’t know if it means anything, but a few instructors have encouraged me to put a proposal together in some classes I’ve taken. But you know what? I am scared shitless. When I express my frustration that I’m struggling writing, well-meaning friends use the demands of motherhood as an excuse, that I should give myself a break, that I’m managing my practice as well as continuing to play organ all over the place on weekends, blah blah blah.

On the surface, those things are all true. And for normal people who know their boundaries and limitations, they’d say, OK, let’s come back to it when we have a little more time. But I feel like I just cannot let it go. I dream about this story and I mull over the arc when I’m out running or going about my day-to-day activities or when I hear a song on the radio. So what am I supposed to do? Whether I were writing a symphony or painting something or writing a book, I think I’d be equally scared of emotionally revealing myself on a grander scale. In my close relationships with people, I am reasonably comfortable with vulnerability, but the what-if machine really does kick in and nail my motivation down as if it were an errant nail in a board.

I think a lot of creative and often super-talented people have all sorts of creative works in their homes. Painted canvasses stuffed in closets, notebooks hidden away in boxes, hard drives full of music. Stuff that’s just tucked away for fear of being seen. I feel it, too.

I’m sort of rambling here. Today I joined a Facebook group whose intent is to coach participants to write 500 words per day. So while I’m a day late hopping on the bandwagon, I ran extra hard today and jumped on board. Not unlike the video for “Say, Say, Say” when Michael Jackson hopped in the back of the wagon every time the townsfolk knew he and the McCartneys were snake oil sales-people. What the video has to do with the song, I’ll never know. And what this video has to do with me jumping on to a 500-word-a-day writing habit, also remains a pretty slippery association. I’m hoping to apply the 500 words daily to this story I’ve been writing, but if not that, to hopefully stir up the creative juices to do more blog posts either here or on my website or whatever else comes out of me. It sometimes feels like an exorcism and we all know from the movie that that is sometimes not a pretty picture either.

If I didn’t have to get myself to the office today, maybe I’d write 1,000 words to make up for the day. Even in my rambling, I’m sort of shocked already that I’ve written over 900 words so maybe I really could belly up to the bar and say something meaningful (don’t hold your breath!).

I do have a few topics on my mind for this blog that are posts for another time. Things about stuff. How’s that for vague? Like even stupid stuff I experience every once in a while. Exhibit A: Over the summer I thought of writing about the nice man who was riding his bike on the trail in the opposite direction while I was running. And I kept running even though I was tired and wanted to stop and didn’t want him to see that I was a wussy and needed to take a breather. So I kept running to save face and after he passed me, waved and said “nice job”, because I was running uphill and still had a ton of baby weight clinging to my frame, I ran 50 more feet and nearly fell flat on my face when I tripped on an exposed tree root. See, stupid stuff like that. It’s what the internet is yearning for. Everybody else does it; why can’t I? It’s not unlike my lifelong struggle to learn the guitar. Probably the easiest instrument on the face of the earth to play and while I can play a few other instruments reasonably well, the guitar seems way over my head.

So I don’t know what the point of this whole thing is. I haven’t decided whether to even share a link to this blog post because WTF is it really saying anyway? I should pull the plug on it because I need to get showered up and leave in 30 minutes to get to my office. It’s not good form for a client to beat you to the office. Heh heh.

Here’s to a more expressive and creative new year! And with that, I sign off. My 500-word goal became over 1100 words.