I've been quiet lately. On my blog, that is. I don't know what my deal is, other than to grudgingly admit this is one of the reasons I don't hold a full-time job. Mostly, it's because I don't WANT to. I want to unschool with my kids. But partly, I must admit, it's because I seem to be thoroughly incapable of doing anything regularly for the long haul. Well, except laundry, and I do that grudgingly on many-a-day. Ok, and marriage, but that ain't always a walk in the park either. But all I have to do to stick with the laundry regimen is get to the point where I realize the underwear isn't going to wash itself and I do it. And all I have to do to stick with my marriage is consider the alternative. I've witnessed enough nasty, painful, never-ending divorces to realize it has to be bad - really, really, REALLY bad - for that to look better than this. And then we get to work.
But the fact is, I'm not much of a stick-to-it kinda grrrl. The upside to that is a lovely, serendipitous life, where things change often enough that we don't grow stagnant and bored. (That sounds good.) The downside is, well, that I tend to binge-and-burn-out. I embrace my new passions with all the giddiness of a newlywed arranging her new china in her new kitchen. And for a while, sometimes a long while even, I dive head-long into my latest interest and explore it inside, outside, upside down and backwards. And then... well, then.... I.... peter... out...
I don't know if it's the 'binge' part of binge-and-burn-out that causes me to peter out. Perhaps there's no balance to my life when I'm diving into a new thing and in the end, that's what gets me. "I don't have time to garden!" I wail, or "When's the last time I hiked in the woods!" I lament. Or maybe, it's just that I'm destined to be a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling optimistic, I think perhaps I'm just still searching, and one day, I'll happen upon that ONE thing that I'm destined to do for the rest of my life. I worried for a long time that I hadn't found my ONE thing, like the potter who starts every morning with clay or the writer who begins every day with pen and paper. These days, I don't care quite so much that I haven't found my ONE thing. But I still get a little peeved at that part of myself that is severely lacking any sort of staying power.
And that, my friends, is why I haven't blogged much lately. It takes too much time. It's a solitary pursuit. I ran out of things to say. There are things I oh-so-badly need to hash through but they're too private for my blog. There are other things I want to spit through clenched teeth but I know I may regret that at a later date.
At the end of the day, I still love blogging. I'm a gotta share kinda grrl, and I love-love-love connecting with people and having great discussions and getting new ideas and having my own ideas challenged, analyzed, supported and tweaked. But at the end of the day, it's still just me sitting in front of a screen, while my family carries on without me, and the only friendships I've nurtured are with those whom I've never met in real life. It surprises me just how important those relationships are, even though they are untested in the ebb and flow of live interaction; and it is those relationships I grieve as I ponder the natural life cycle of my blog.
But I don't think I'm quite done yet. That seems rather rash and final. So we'll call it a break. A siesta. A vacation. Down time.
In the meantime, life goes on in our little section of cornfield country. I've retreated again with my women's group, gardened, managed Brady's soccer team and administrated for the soccer club. I've cooked, laundered, mowed, and scrubbed. There were play rehearsals and performances. Museum classes. Park days and band practices. Speaking gigs to give and speaking gigs to attend. Birthday parties, potlucks, performances, and festivals. And no, I still haven't painted my bathroom, but I did manage to purge an embarrassing amount of excess clothing from my closet.
And when life begins to move a bit too quickly, and painful things continue to poke holes in my thin-skinned exterior, and when I need some quiet and calm to help me muddle through a few things, I do always have this:
And it always brings me back to center.