I've had this blog for a solid decade now. Ten years. Before that I kept various pockets of thought online via livejournal, x-diary, and on and on but this one...my domain? Ten years going.
I think of it as a great big scroll of late nights and early mornings and random daylight hours...updates of both merit and time-killing. Saying it all or dancing around the elephant with words adjusted to a precise measurement of almost-telling-it. I was a pro at what was not said--mistakes made and humiliations I couldn't bear to share beyond my own knowing. Things that changed the path or deepened it. There were times when life was so rich I didn't have time to get it down outside of notebook scribbles or a picture or two. And in turn there were times over the past ten years when things hurt too much to face, and I turned away from dumping it out until something ultimately tipped me. I used to work a full time job in the day and bartend part-time at night, and I would walk home at 3 am in a so-quiet-it's-holy city moment. I'd be dog tired but have all these thoughts, and I'd come here to recount my evenings. I wrote here while head over heels and I posted full of heartache. I probably said too much and not enough. Oh oh the poems. All the poems.
2007, late autumn rain in Lawrenceville
So many miles put on two wheels
the essentials, 2008
my writing room, 2012
from my tent in the rain at the Pink Door Retreat, 2013
Ten years. Big, little, high and below sea level. Happy somewhat birthday, little blog. Even if I've grown considerably more private over the years, I'm thankful for this outlet of connect & reflect. Here's to potentially ten more.
And, in keeping with the time thing, this week marks 1 full year back in the states. I still wrestle with the most strange homesickness--a homesick for a country not mine, that I barely knew but felt something incredible for.
Cairo, Egypt, 2015
I have a lot of feelings about that--some bits of them get stronger as time goes on, and some fall back because they serve no other purpose than to fade. My thirties thus far have been wild, surprising, soulcrushing, a complicated dance of give and take and lost and gain. If there ever was an era of living to fully encompass life, this one would be it. Sometimes I look at all this living and feel there are thousands of eras and lives, and I wonder how on earth will there be more? The truth is there might be and I am fortunate and grateful for all I have the opportunity to experience. What's amazing is that despite all the movement, change, things learned and lost and picked up, I am still me. The core, the one true thing.
35th birthday in Pittsburgh, 2016
How do I explain it? I'm still that kid making collages at her grandma's house while listening to The Breeders Last Splash on cassette, wondering earnestly when will life begin. I'm still the teenager at her cashier job wasting all the receipt tape rolls on new poems, and I'm twenty and moving to a bigger city forever. I built bridges along my bones filled with cornfield and lightning bug applause. I'm still exceptionally hard on myself. I'll always be the smallest cousin with the hard head and bleeding heart. I'll be that for always. I'll get tapped on the shoulder by mistakes made and when I turn around they'll be something maybe that makes more sense. I will still take pleasure in thunderstorms & cricket crescendos when I'm 60-something. I'll sit on the floor for miles of minutes in the poetry section of a bookstore until the day I die.