Empty Handed

When it gets right down to where the bear shits in the buckwheat**, time grows thin, my friends.

I started this blog over two years ago with great intentions. I figured if I sat my ass down and wrote, something would shake loose. Some clarity, some direction, maybe even a halfway decent answer or two. That felt reasonable. Optimistic, sure, but not delusional. I mean I used to write without thought, hours at a time, page after page.

Turns out, good intentions are cheap. They don’t do the work. They don’t tell you what matters or what you’ve been avoiding. They just sit there like an unopened beer, waiting for you to decide whether you’re actually going to drink it.

Writing used to feel useful. I thought this would be a place to sort things out and maybe figure out what the hell comes next after I’d done most of what I was supposed to do. But most days I stare at the screen like it personally pissed me off. Because life didn’t get simpler when things slowed down. It just got quieter. And when it’s quiet, you hear the shit you used to drown out with work or noise or responsibility.

Honesty isn’t cute. It doesn’t wrap itself up with a lesson or a bow. Most days, it’s just admitting you don’t know what you want next, only that whatever it is, you want it to be real. Except what’s real? And did I EVER know what I wanted? This blog isn’t about wisdom. It’s about trying to find what still burns, what still irritates me, and what I still haven’t done. I’m not here to inspire anyone or sell a shiny version of aging.

I’ve never pretended I had answers and I’m not doing that now. I used to listen to people, to let them get their shit out, out loud. I guess that’s what I’m looking for now. Just someone to listen.

I’m not trying to be dramatic, I’m trying not to feel lost. I’m just done settling for things that don’t fit anymore, then immediately wondering how I’m gonna change shit and whether or not I have enough time.

**momism