I just don’t know what to write. I sit here and think about my blog and I look at all I have to do, all the words I have to write today, the proposals I have to put together for new clients, the articles I have to write, and the blog just becomes this horrible chore.
I think, in some ways, I’ve stopped thinking of myself as a blogger. That seems so crazy, of course, because blogging was my everything for so very long, but I think of myself these days as a writer and not a blogger. I wrote a book recently. Not a huge book, of course, but an ebook for a client. A fifth of a book, really. 10,000 words poured out and written over the course of about two weeks. I suddenly realized that I could, actually, write a book. I have the discipline to do it. Blogging has taught me how to be a writer.
But these days there is a huge part of me that is lacking identity, and how can I write a book if I don’t know who I am?
My head is filled with nuggets of information about technology and startup culture and social media and content marketing and affiliate marketing and more. How do I swim through all of that to write here on my blog about me? I could write about how Tori has spent much of yesterday and a couple hours this morning conducting mermaid research, filling notebooks with drawings and notes as she reads the history of mermaids and watched videos of “real mermaids.” I could write about how I am working harder to stretch again several times a day, and how we finally got to hike again on Saturday even though it was a hot mess of ice and mud but I couldn’t have been more happy to be back in the woods after this horrible winter. I could tell you about feeling embarrassed about gaining some weight back over the winter, and how I don’t like looking in the mirror again because I have fat face.
But I hate to be that vulnerable these days.
I could talk about how my business is growing like crazy, and that is so exciting. I could talk about marriage and how Charlie and I are perfect business partners but I miss the intimacy we had when we were younger. I could talk about feeling old, how my eyesight just keeps getting worse and worse and how I can no longer read while wearing my glasses for nearsightedness, and reading while wearing contacts is simply impossible. I could tell you that the latest Facebook design change makes my eyes hurt and how I’m thisclose to hitting those buttons that will make everything on the computer screen bigger but I don’t. Instead I just push the monitor farther away.
I could talk about how I’ve decided to skip going to as many conferences this year because we want to take a family vacation at some point, and my sister is getting married in August and I want to go to the wedding, but how it feels weird to know that those conferences will be happening and I won’t be there for the first time in many years. I can also talk about how I find it very unlikely that my presence at those conferences will be missed.
One of the continual lessons of life that I’ve had to learn over and over again since I got sober is this: I am not exceptional. I am average in every way. I am just another person doing my best to live life as it presents itself, and I am not exempt from the worries and problems of life, and I have to work just as hard as everyone else.
Maybe this is all middle aged stuff, or as we call it now, midlife. I don’t know. All I know is I feel oddly unmoored.
So I guess I blogged, then. In the nearly ten years I’ve been writing here, I’ve never felt so disconnected from it. I want that connection back. I want to write about life. My friend Jen said the other day that she treats her blog like a morning run. I like that. So this was my morning run, I hope. At least this kind of running doesn’t hurt my knees.