I first began blogging just over 27 months ago. I can’t say there was one particular reason as to why I started writing. Rather, I think it was a myriad of reasons and circumstances which compelled me to click away at my keyboard. And in these past 27 months I’ve written about so many things. Kids and cars, love and lust, failure and forgiveness. It’s all there. My life for the world to see.
Over the past several months, however, I’ve been asked by several friends why I don’t write as often as I used to. I would post 3–4 times per week. And not just 2 paragraph ramblings. I’m talking about 500–700 word rants and soliloquies about what was happening in my life. For me, it was my therapy. It’s how I dealt with the pain of losing my dad. It’s how I coped with the fact I left my wife. It’s how I healed after my heart was crushed. It’s how I rejoiced after my life was saved.
So here I sit looking back at what can only be described as a tempest of time. A whirlwind of emotions and experiences that brought me to where I am today. The father of two wonderful and beautiful children. The boyfriend of a woman who is true, endearing and so amazing that I am often rendered speechless. The member of a community that is so loving and embracing, it’s hard to imagine a life without it. All those dominoes that fell, all those ripples that floated outward, all those breezes that were born into gusts that begat changes in direction, perspective and understanding; they all brought me to where I am today.
And where I am today is a wonderful and remarkable place. I am a couple of chapters into the new book that is my life. My new life, where the rear view mirror is no longer haunting and the horizon is something to be embraced and no longer feared. It’s a life in which my daily battle is to temper my desire to floor it because I know the future has so many more wonderful events in store, yet I want to pace myself and be able to thoroughly enjoy the here and now.
I used to write to dull the pain. I used to write to justify the course of my actions and the decisions I made. I used to write because I hoped that someone reading would empathize and understand. We all know that misery loves company and I was miserable. Even though I never really was, I felt alone. I felt in despair and the only thing keeping me together was the ability to click a button that reads “Post to Blog.”
I have to admit, it’s much more of a challenge to write now. Just like crawling into a bottle or laying in bed for days upon days, it’s so easy to write when you’re sad and depressed. I have so much for which to be thankful, that I just want to shout it out to the world (hence this entry). Yet I find myself too busy enjoying life that I don’t make the time to sit down and write. And sometimes, that’s alright with me.