One Door Closes

Here’s the thing.  I’ve stopped blogging, I just didn’t know it yet.

I have files on this computer titled:  Thoughts on Ferguson, Disorganized Religion, Skinny, Ray Rice, On God or The Lack Thereof, The Subtext of Texting, etc….  All subjects that set my hair on fire and that I’m writing about.  Just not publicly.  Which means, not here. 

It’s like that Joan Didion saying, “I write to know what I think,” except that I’ve learned I need way more time and space, and a closed door, to know what I think.

I started this blog almost 5 years ago so I could write with immediacy without writing for real.  Like a warm up.  Like practice.  But these days I’m writing everything for real which explains all of those tucked away and titled computer files, not yet fully cooked. Which also explains why this blog has bogged down. I look back through my posts and see I’m reading this or that, walked the dogs, went on a trip, moved my computer to another room, blah boring blah.  Because when I write here these days, I find myself backing down.  Backing off topics.  Overusing the delete key.  Stalling.  I’ve become too careful here in this space, too much of a pleaser, too worried about what you and you and you will think before I’ve even had time to think it through myself.

The opposite of — the opposition to — writing.

Here’s to forgetting I have a delete key.