December 17 23

I don’t remember why exactly I stopped writing here. It wasn’t really even gradual, I don’t think. One day I was writing regularly, an exercise that was good for my mental health and frankly, an exercise that I loved. And, you guys, sometimes I was even accidentally funny and/or smart. And then COVID happened, and then, and then, and then, and then I just…stopped.

I’m sure some of it, at least, had to do with the way social media changed how we share information. I’m sure some of it had to do with the business of blogging and then the social media influencer. I was never comfortable with the business side of blogging [shocking, I’m also not comfortable with the business side of my photography business] and I’m certainly NO influencer. I’m sure some of it had to do with the sudden loss of my niece India and then the too-quick decline and also too sudden loss of my dad, during COVID, and I think I was forever changed. And my fingers stopped writing because my words felt less important, less worthy.

I’m sure the ages and stages of my children contributed. My baby has said peace out to high school. She’s currently living her absolute best life in Israel on her incredible gap year program before starting University. My middle is almost finished with university. My oldest has graduated University (don’t even start with me because this sorcery math just doesn’t, well, math.) and is working two jobs real-life jobs. Their stories became their own long ago, even though they were always involved in conversations that started with, “Are you going to write about this on your blaaaaawg?” I think I was always careful to remember about digital footprints and even though my kids were always googleable, the stories about them would never be too embarrassing and would certainly never keep them from being hired.

And well, October 7th happened and suddenly I couldn’t even share on social media. I normally would have told you about a trip to Nashville and a trip to Washington D.C. to hug and love on a new niece and a new nephew, respectively. I know I would have told you about the Packers this season. And I’m sure I would have told you that in just over a week I’m going to Paris for the first time — to eat many, many croissants — on my way to hug Isabella. I’m absolutely certain I would have mentioned our Chanukah and our sourdough starter kit, the only gift. I would have told you about the Taylor Swift spin class that Emily signed me up for and I was just not very good and then the next day I couldn’t walk down the stairs.

And I’m sure I would have told you that we went to see a movie last night. In the theater! I KNOW. I swapped out my typical saturday night plans of watching a movie in my old aviator nation sweats for an exciting saturday night watching a movie in my old aviator nation sweats. Only this time there was popcorn and a DIY diet coke from a fancy machine. What can I say…I live large. But, there were some added bonuses that I wasn’t expecting. A group of teenagers to the left of me, and a group of teenagers to the right of me. On their phones. Taking photos. Talking out loud. Why was the brightness on their screens so high. WHAT?! What was even happening. Have I ventured completely into get off my lawn territory? How was I supposed to pay attention to Coriolanus Snow’s origin story if I had to deal with, well, teenagers. I could have done this at home in a more comfortable setting AND I could have been cuddling with my dog. So we did what any normal non-boat rockers would have done…we moved our seats to the front of the theater where the only problem was some old lady neck strain. Take THAT, teenagers. And then someone else must have complained because there were two giant security guards who came in and escorted some of our friends out of the theater.

And my sore neck and I were pretty smug about it.

And then we drove home [unable to get The Hanging Tree song out of my head] and then there was a police car on our street and some loud screaming and I ran into the house and now I understand why I rarely leave the house and maybe watching movies in the comfort of my home is the actual way to go and I mean, I can buy myself one of those fancy pellet ice machines, right?

So. Maybe this is why I stopped blogging. I’m out of stories. Well, not out of stories, but out of good stories. Because that one up there? It wasn’t very good.

But it was real. And it was me. And maybe that’s enough.


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