Monday, May 28, 2018

BEGIN AGAIN.

I write this from my phone, lying in bed, belly full of the sour straws I committed whole-heartedly to not eat the entirety of my 27th year (I made it less than a month). Matt is downstairs watching basketball. Babies are asleep. We are all tired and happy from a weekend of playing and puddle splashing and eating junk and togetherness.

I’ve been feeling an itchiness lately. I lie awake long into the night thinking. Crafting sentences. Brainstorming. Doing the kinds of things mothers of young children who get up at 7:15 am sharp need not be doing at 2:34 in the morning. But I can’t help it. Nighttime, when the house is quiet and no one needs me, is when the wheels start turning and my brain starts sticking words together to try to adequately capture my experiences and emotions of the day.

So this is my attempt to replicate that phenomenon at a more humane hour. Plus I’m full of approximately 800 calories of refined  sugar. I need to direct these jitters to something.

Here we go.

There were a few reasons I stopped writing. First, I got a new boss at work who had things he wanted me to do and a budget for me to do these things and the time to meet with me about these budgeted things. Out went my downtime sitting in front of a blank screen (I was not the best employee, clearly). Secondly, I got pregnant. My focus shifted and I was pretty terrified all of pregnancy. I think I wrote about that? No clue where that post went, tragically. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, because it’s still something I’m struggling with, isn’t this all just so...self-indulgent? Who am I to think that I have something so valuable to say? And that I should write it somewhere publicly and think other people might want to read it? The gall!

But then I went hunting though my old email account, found this blog, read all these old posts, and felt such AFFECTION for my newly-married, childless, bored-to-tears-at-work self. I read those posts and felt the same pride I felt for Ada tonight when she put her pajama shirt on all by herself. Look at young me doing something! Just for the heck of it! Way to go! I want to be like that!

I keep thinking of two quotes I read recently. Well, one is a quote. The other is a quote-ish summation from Jennifer Fulwiller’s new book One Beautiful Dream that I’m too sour strawed out to dig out and flip through.

Let’s start with the real quote from St. Teresa of Calcutta: Do something beautiful for God.

And the second quote-ish: You have something to offer.

So I’m combining the two and making a plan/motto/mission statement. I’ll be here, stringing words and thoughts together in a way that is (hopefully) beautiful because I have something to offer the world.

Thanks for joining me.



SIDE NOTE:
Why oh why is it so hard for us to say that we feel we are gifted in an area? Reading back through my old posts, I was legitimately impressed and freaking proud of my writing. But I would almost sooner have another back-laborious natural birthing experience than stand up and say “Hey. I’m Mary Margaret and I’m a decent writer.” Have we swung too far into humility that we’re afraid to even admit these things to ourselves, let alone declare them publicly? It just feels so braggy. Ugh. Even then I just went back and changed the word good to decent. Double ugh.