I think I left my blogging voice in New York. I don't know if I ever really had a blogging voice, goodness knows I haven't been doing it long. But before I left, I started to feel like I was getting in a groove. I started viewing events in my life within the context of how I could share them on my blog. I was excited about this passion for writing I had rediscovered after so long. I knew I wasn't a great writer, any illusions I had about that disappeared as soon as I became regular visitors to other blogs, but I loved it. It had been a long time since I felt passionate about much beyond my family. I went to bed rearranging words into phrases in my head and trying to decide if I should get up and write them right away, lest they poof away while I was sleeping. Apparently this was a legitimate concern because by the time I made it back from my trip, every bit of blogging mojo I had conjured up....Well, poof, poof, poof.
It took me three days to write a post about my trip. I started several times, but each time it was like clawing my way through dirt to pick out words that didn't really seem to fit together. I had no real message. I wasn't inspired. I eventually put something together to document my trip. Something was better than nothing I thought, and it was such a wonderful trip. And then I waited for something to inspire me to write again. And again nothing. So here I sit, well past midnight, blogging about blogging and my inability to do so. The irony is not lost on me.
There is something about night, about being shrouded in dark that leads us to confide. As a teenage girl I confided so many secrets to friends while sharing fold out-beds or palettes on the floor. My words finding safety in faces unseen. It's like that now, as I sit here and type in the dark, on a keyboard I can't even see. It's easy to ruminate, my insecurities finding residence in my idleness. And it's easy to confess; things like my fears that maybe I really am out of my league in this world of bloggers. My fears that maybe the reason I can find nothing to write is that I am not interesting, or because I simply lack the talents to find and record the gems in each day God gives us.
But now I am being grim. Someone I know emailed me and said they read my blog. She said she read it and it impressed her but at the same time it made her sad. My trials with Brandon, Allie's insecurities and my own about my place in this world. The title of my blog is "joy in chaos" but I think I have only conveyed the chaos in my heart and not the joy. I should share more joy. These are the things I think about at night. That and Harry Potter.
I guess that's my next confession. I just ordered the last Harry Potter book to be delivered on July 21st. I even used my precious Barnes & Noble gift certificate to pay for it. I think I was resisting because it didn't feel like a meaningful enough purchase. How ridiculous is that. Apparently I believe if I am going to buy a book at full-hardcover price it must be life changing. So, I thought a lot about what I would order. What books should I read, that I never have. What did I want to display proudly on my bookshelf. And then I went to Bub and Pie's blog and I saw her countdown for the last book and I knew that nothing would make me more excited than having that sitting on my doorstep on the 21st . Because the truth is that despite the fact that it's a pop-culture phenomenon, and I am sometimes a pop-culture snob, I simply love those books. And for good measure I used the rest of the certificate to order the 6th book as well because we don't own that one either. (And all I can remember about it is weeping through the last pages) And then I went and shamelessly stole the code for Bub and Pie's counter and stuck it on my site to count down the days til my delivery. Because that makes me happy. Very happy. So I guess that's a bit of joy, after all.