I started and then stopped writing here. I became caught up in trying to discern a value of a site and works that (probably) no one would find and even if they did they almost certainly would dismiss every word and label it a waste of their time. I am not a writer, a spiritualist, an influencer.
I am a person trying to change how I live my life, and while that is of absolutely no value to almost everyone on this planet, it matters immensely to me and those that I love.
So I have started again. Coming back to this with the ambition to capture my journey.
I once had a friend that started a blog anonymously and put it online. I asked if it was one of those "secret identity" type blogs where the secrecy attracts. No. They wanted to make something real, to put it out there, but just for them. They opened themselves up and shared their guts while hoping no one was watching. Standing naked in a field, hoping no-one passes by. But they might.
So why not put this in a journal? Why not write in private? In a strange way honour, honouring the journey and finding the words to mark it. I can't just write aimlessly and close the book and be done. Each piece on here needs to strike a balance between honouring what I am trying to do and the time taken to put that into words that have a chance of articulation.
Publishing something, making it out of your control, putting it into the universe for as long as the internet stands to sit and hide in a tiny corner if an infinitely vast virtual room, changes it somehow. It scares me, it makes this real, it is an honouring. Maybe it's the invitation to be laughed at, to be measured, to be ridiculed for everything I write (and the desperate motivation of learning to live that sits behind each word); I hope no one every finds this, but if you are someone else reading this please be kind.