It's been 3 years since I've been here. If the virtual world collected dust, I imagine I'd need a broom for this space. I've thought about coming back often. With witty follow ups and gentle reproofs to my readers for not worrying more as to my fate following my hot yoga class.
I really loved blogging. And I wanted to come back. But before I knew it, it had been a couple months - and I drifted away; like a relationship that ends without an actual break-up. And then it had been a year - and I felt like I'd failed. And then two passed - and I thought there's no way I can come back from that gracefully. And then it had been three - and I thought...maybe. And then it had been three years and one week - and the ashes had cooled enough to rise from them.
Resurrection is a heady word. One that necessitates some sort of death. And so I choose caution. And excuses. And fear. I choose worrying about the judgement of others, and especially of myself. These are the things I will let go of.
Ashes all.
And from them I choose risk. And grace. And fearlessness. I choose to rise with candor and humor and to welcome those things that challenge me the most.
There's an exhilaration in choosing to resurrect something. An intelligence in the naming that which no longer has a place or purpose. A bravery in the acceptance that some things are only ever supposed to be fleeting. A boldness in shedding old skin and old mentalities. And there's a freedom in breathing new life into an old body, an old relationship, an old dream, or an old blog.
Is this a little dramatic? Oh yes. But I'm totally okay with that. Mostly I'm just happy to be back - dust and ashes and all.
I really loved blogging. And I wanted to come back. But before I knew it, it had been a couple months - and I drifted away; like a relationship that ends without an actual break-up. And then it had been a year - and I felt like I'd failed. And then two passed - and I thought there's no way I can come back from that gracefully. And then it had been three - and I thought...maybe. And then it had been three years and one week - and the ashes had cooled enough to rise from them.
Resurrection is a heady word. One that necessitates some sort of death. And so I choose caution. And excuses. And fear. I choose worrying about the judgement of others, and especially of myself. These are the things I will let go of.
Ashes all.
And from them I choose risk. And grace. And fearlessness. I choose to rise with candor and humor and to welcome those things that challenge me the most.
There's an exhilaration in choosing to resurrect something. An intelligence in the naming that which no longer has a place or purpose. A bravery in the acceptance that some things are only ever supposed to be fleeting. A boldness in shedding old skin and old mentalities. And there's a freedom in breathing new life into an old body, an old relationship, an old dream, or an old blog.
Is this a little dramatic? Oh yes. But I'm totally okay with that. Mostly I'm just happy to be back - dust and ashes and all.
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