Hello, it’s me.
I was wondering if after all these months you’d like to read.
To go over everything.
They say that time’s supposed to heal ya,
But I ain’t done much… uh… typing?
It’s a strange feeling coming back to this blog. Staring at the checkerboard of posts on the front page makes it painfully obvious that I just haven’t been writing much anymore. Hell, the last post was almost a year ago. The question that begs to be asked, then, is “why?” The obvious answer, the one I was a little afraid of admitting to myself, is that in my second year here a lot of the magic has been dispelled.
I don’t think that’s true, though; things are just different now. It’s true that every day isn’t a sweeping adventure. It’s true that I’m not heading somewhere exciting and new every weekend. It’s more that the adventure and wonder that I do still feel is the kind that’s hard to put to words and even harder to make exciting to someone else. It’s the little things. I don’t know how to write a blog post about waking up and having a lazy Saturday with good local breakfast food delivered to my door. I’m not sure how to liven up the prose of cruising around familiar streets that used to seem like foreign worlds. I don’t think many of you would be terribly interested in long-winded paragraphs about heading to the lethwei gym to work out for the 200th time. That’s what a large part of my life is now, though. The excitement of the new and strange has been replaced by the excitement of those very things transforming into my new anchors of calming familiarity.
So, I’m here to try and re-build a bridge. I’m here to put metaphorical pen to paper in an attempt to hold myself responsible for writing again. Flannery O’Connor once quipped “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say,” and I think there’s a large grain of truth to that. I’ve missed the me that comes out when I write, and I’m excited to meet up with him again.