The toughest person to forgive is often ourselves.
I’ve two Go Ask Daddy posts unpublished. Crazy, huh? If I can’t finish on my self-imposed deadline, I won’t publish. I’ll save them. I’m holding my blog hostage. I force myself to finish freelance work (veggies) before I get to blogging (snickerdoodle cookies.)
Heard of the Pomodoro timer?
I’m using that too. I’m rewarding myself for hours of distraction-free work with writing for fun. It keeps me hungry (not for snickerdoodles, although …) to put in the work to get to what feeds my soul most.
More to the point: How did they get there? For most of us, it’s picking up a Jennie Ritz novel or Lee Smith masterpiece or sinking your literary teeth into some Pat Conroy while on a Carolina beach trip and you find something. Something that resonates.
See, I got it all ass-backward with my favorite writer.
Corey Wheeland was a writer before she was my friend. She became a published author just last night. This same friend with a similar heart and a marvelous daughter that shines like she ate the rings of Saturn for breakfast had a book released on Thursday.
I made it this far. Not gracefully. It’s 1:14 and I promised myself 1 hour, 14 minutes ago to get to bed at midnight like a normal person. Wait. Don’t normal people get to sleep at even decenter hours than that?
Blogging again has been better than any of the high school reunions I never went to.
I’m seeing friends again and spending less time in aimless pursuits. I’m also falling asleep at inopportune times and really need to work on that. I have a fantastic guest post live just before this one that deserves a load of promotion as big as the donuts I dream of.
It’s fitting that I post a guest blog from a middle child on the same day my middle child signs her letter of intent to play soccer in college.
Yes, that’s a stretch. (And a way to give Hayden a shoutout. She’s signing with Piedmont International. She’ll walk in with a brace but no crutches as her recovery from ACL surgery continues. So proud of you Hayd!)
Laura’s the middle child starring on this page today.
She’s a valued blogging friend and wonderful wordsmith. No one beats Laura, a fellow parent, and writer, at headlines. Every headline makes you want to click. Her page is like an open box of vanilla wafers you won’t be satisfied with until you’ve had all of them.
He was actually a French surgeon in the 1700s. I’m not sure which of these men I am, and that’s up for debate. What I’d like to do is write posts about quotes now and then. Because of words about words, right?
They’re in town, really. Two in the same house. Plans changed for one and brought her back to Charlotte. Another will leave for school in the fall, but won’t be far. The youngest? She’s got budding wanderlust in the 37th degree.
I don’t blame her.
She’s the one who has lived in one town. She’s the one who has seen Charlotte – or east Charlotte, anyway – as only a waning wasteland of faltering lifestyle. They all want to see the world. I imagined I’d be the one with a passport and plane ticket next to them.
I did it. I found my way back. Like, in a real way. I keep hearing and reading about doing what we love and loving what we do and you know what? Me, not writing, was kind of like me not thinking about tacos. Only, kinda worse, you know?
Anyway, I’ve found a way to schedule writing and reading and commenting.
I promise it’ll be better than the new Full House or even slicker than those Detroit Lions throwback jerseys, which actually look like a kid just peeled all the Lions stickers off. I’m grateful for a chance to breathe some new life around her.
Ever feel ready for something, but just not quite ready, all at once?
I know. Confusing. In all the time I’m not writing, I’m hoping to write. I’m also hoping to improve processes so that I can write soon (and have more tacos. Let’s be honest.)
A few months back, I connected with Jenn Shull, a local coach, and yogi. And, it turns out, way tons more.
She writes the blog The Bold Thing. It takes someone bold to write a blog called The Bold Thing. Jenn’s perspective and ability to see someone’s potential – through endless tarnish even – is remarkable.
But sometimes, you just want to tunnel your butt someplace else. Not always even to a churro factory after hours, although … well, we all have aspirations. And I’ve asked several strangers, bloggers, friends, and a few strange blogger friends this question:
If you could build a tunnel from your house directly to anywhere in the world, where would it go? And why?
That’s a lot to get into six words, but it’s possible.