A Mother’s bliss

One of the things I’ve missed since I stopped blogging is connecting with other people and reading their blogs. It just makes life more interesting to hear what people are doing in different parts of the world. From my own perspective, I find that I pay better attention to what’s going on around me and look more closely at my daily encounters so that I can write about them later. I’ve always felt like writing adds another dimension to my existence, and I take comfort in the thought that maybe some of my words may live on, even if it is just on an old notepad my kids stumble upon, or floating around on the internet. After my brother passed away I came across an old paper bag that had his Subway order written on it, along with all of our orders. Just seeing something he had jotted down was enough to revive his memory for a few minutes.

Last night I went out to dinner with my two daughters — a belated Mother’s Day celebration. I don’t know about any of you, but being with my two grown girls is bliss to me. I wasn’t close to my own mother, so it makes me especially happy to have such a strong bond with them. They are in their 30s and I love how passionate they are about wanting to make a difference in the world. We split a bottle of Rose and each ordered our own personal pizza. Our choices in pizza revealed much about who we are at this stage in life – one with arugula, balsamic vinaigrette, and grapes on it, one with all the veggies and meats, and mine a simple Margherita pizza. I always fancied myself to be the one who liked to try different things, but these days I stick with what I know I will like, and that will like me back.

I never thought we would all be living in the same city again, but that is how it is, for now, so I will enjoy it while it lasts.

Trying Something New

I love to write. I am not a writer. The only pieces I’ve ever had published were for research journals, and once I had a couple of letters to the editor “published” in our local newspaper.  If I count self-publishing, I suppose I could include my blog.  It contained almost 500 posts. I had a decent amount of followers, but when friends, family members, and acquaintances started reading it, I felt too exposed so I deleted it. I turned it into a hard bound book which sits hidden on the bottom of our living room bookshelves.  That is how the extroverted introvert inside me operates. I want you to look at me but only briefly before I step back into the shadows.

I used to dream of writing a novel that would make me famous. Turns out that is way harder than it sounds. One of the few benefits of this stage of my life is being freed of such delusions. Now I write for my own amusement. I write for my past, present, and future self.

I write for my past self to give her the chance to speak her truths

I write for my present self to make sure I remember to notice what’s around me

I write for my future self, so that I can look back and remember in awe, the life I’ve lived.