The Very Stuff of Life

I haven't been writing regularly these past few years.  I used to keep a regular record of my thoughts and the goings-on of my life. I get flustered when I reread my journals from college -- I have a strong inner critic who is impatient with her former self.  In a moment of teenage disgust, I actually burned my high school journals.  I learned a lot in those four years, and surprisingly little of it had anything to do with the Spanish degree I eventually left with. There was a lot I thought I understood, much I wanted to understand, and lots of holding back.

I never quite got through Sophie's World, despite years of having the book and having half-hearted attempts each summer to dive in, but the first chapters were stirring enough on their own: the image of people living on a rabbit, getting so comfortable down in the fur of the rabbit that they never bother to burrow out and see the glorious ride they're on. College was the first time in years I felt I could be myself, without constant bombardment from family about how weird I was being and, remarkably, I had a group of friends who truly cared about me and I them. It was nice to let myself get comfortable in the fur for once, but it wasn't a great long term strategy. 

In the years that followed, I felt I was too busy living to document what was going on. 

Now I'm here and I'm feeling the need for words again. I'm especially feeling the need to connect. The allure of blogging like it's 2005 is the feedback.  I know enough by now that the more input I get on situations that are driving me nuts, the better. But then I'd have to do the work of finding some sort of community and even then the things going on around me are largely unbloggable. Extended family issues are a no-go, because they are touchy, have legal implications, and are guaranteed to end sadly. Changes are brewing in my own little family, ones that I've known are coming and are necessary, but are still hard and fear-producing and in general aren't mine to share. Blogging about my work isn't really something I'd like to do or should do, which leaves Reed and my hobbies. And, in generally, I want to let Reed be Reed and not be the basis about which I write, and instead of writing about my other hobbies I'd like to actually DO my hobbies. That leaves scant time for writing and not a lot of material. 

So what am I doing here? Goodness knows, but I'm going to keep it around and see where it goes.