I’ve been quiet with this blog. Even though I have written some poems and shorts stories, I just don’t see myself as a good writer. I want to be a writer. I dream of publishing a book I’ve been working on. But I get shy and discouraged. It never seems good enough.
With Fifth House a blog sounded fun. I have lots to say about growing up, liking yourself, becoming who you want to be. There are less “rules” with blogs. I could write in the manner of my emails, where I crack my friends up with my neurotic vulnerability. But once I knew people were watching…I couldn’t write. I would write posts and then make excuses that I didn’t have the right photo or they were not good enough. I started procrastinating. I started hating the blog.
A friend once told me that I get very excited about going to the beach. (I do love the beach!) She said, "You jump in the car, drive for about four hours and then look around at rural Missouri and scream, “This isn’t the beach!” Then you are frustrated, turn the car right back around and head home".
I didn’t understand what she was saying at the time, but now I do. We can’t get where we want to be if we aren’t willing to enjoy the scenery on the way there. Let's face it...sometimes it's ugly...but sometimes it's not.
This little blog is not the same as writing my book abroad in Parisian parks or above my favorite Roman piazza, but it’s a start.
Fasten your garter belts girls because we are backing out of the driveway.