After my last post of 2015, I thought about hanging it up. After a tumultuous year both personally and professionally, I felt guarded in my words for the first time. Writing for me needs to be cathartic, raw and vulnerable. If I’m not pulling back the curtain, my words fall silently to the floor. Each time I tried to write, my heart and brain rarely agreed on the direction. So I stopped writing, and filled the silence by sharing the words of others that spoke to me.
But I noticed something. It wouldn’t matter the emotion of the day, something was missing. After almost a decade of blogging, I’d grown accustomed to my inner scribe taking notes as I go, finding lessons here and metaphor there. The world rang hollow without the echo of my muse.
I write to exhale, to find stability in the chaos, and to provide a real glimpse of me and the world through my senses.
This blog combines the history of my three previous blogs — A Muse in Here (2015), From the Soil (2009-2014) and Skim Mocha, No Whip (2007-2010) — each a different piece of me.
In this new eponymous effort, I hope to stay true to the code that hangs on my bedroom wall. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I hope you enjoy my journey through the questions.
P.S. I’m East Coast by birth, Illinoisan by association — too slow for NYC, not polite enough for Champaign-Urbana. I’m a 44-year-old gardener, tech leader, photographer, armchair coach and politician, and wanna-be foodie. Since 2014, I’ve shared my 1,000 sq. ft. apartment with my teenage son two days a week and every other weekend. If we’re not binge watching a new series on Netflix, we’re probably at a boy scout event or track meet. My partner in crime and love in life resides 309 miles away in Ohio, so I’m intimately familiar with the I-74/I-70 corridor and thank Apple every day for the invention of FaceTime.