Most days I walk with a friend. Because we do not live in the same town, we text each other when we set out in the morning. “Let’s begin.” I might type. To which she replies, “Again.”
“Let’s begin, again” is what I say to myself as I sit down to write this first post. I have started about 421 blogs in the past five years, so why in the Sam Hell would I give this another shot?
On New Year’s Day I did something I never do–I made a couple of resolutions: to read only books written by women (shoot me fellas), to hand copy one poem written by a woman every day, to cut back on sugar, to drink less wine and more tea (I really need to start this one).
I turn 49 today, and I’m adding one more “to do” to my list–blogging. I’ve been thinking about it for a while–obviously as I have started 421 blogs in the past; however, this time I am in it for the long haul or a year. I am taking this wonderful Brené Brown class over at courage works.com and I’m determined to get good at this vulnerability gig–and writing a small thing at least three times a week and shoving it out into the world seems like a good way to begin, again.
So here goes.
Funny story–the name of this blog is The 49th Year because I turn 49 today. What a great name, right. So great that I bought the domain and the added privacy protection in the unlikely event that reading this blog might turn someone into a stalker. I am going for it this time–writing, vulnerability, blog–in real time, in my real 49th year.
So last night, I lie down next to my gently snoring husband, and read a few pages from The Witches: Salem, 1692 before turning off the light. And the minute I close my eyes, my stomach starts roiling, like there’s a hand deep in my core pulling all my organs into a sweaty fist-sized ball.
Why all the angst?
Because I’m starting a blog, and I’ll have to post it on FB because there is no vulnerability involved if I don’t ask people to read the damned thing, and suddenly, in the dark of night, it occurs to me that this is the worst idea ever! In fact, it’s appalling, and I think the whole thing may have given me a flu-like illness. My mouth is all watery and I’m coughing little hiccupy coughs and my hips ache, and I know I’ll never sleep now unless I leap out of bed and take half a Xanax, pronto.
So I get the Xanax and pee because I never get out of bed without peeing, and I’m once again lying next to the same husband whose snoring is slightly less gentle to my fevered ears, when I realize that I’m turning 49. And if I’m turning 49, that means I have already lived my 49th year. People are going to laugh, and sneer, and joke around about how I turned one the day I was born. The whole thing is ruined before it ever begins.
And maybe because my husband stops snoring and silence pierces the frenzy of self doubt, I am able to hear her–the me who isn’t afraid, the crone me. And she’s laughing and then I’m laughing because
No one is going to give a shit what I name my blog.
Ruined might be a pretty good place to begin.
I am so pleased you are writing your blog. I will read it faithfully. Your writing makes me think, makes me laugh, makes me consider things that had never occurred to me so yes I will be reading your blog whenever it is posted.
Thanks so much, Karen. That means so much to me!
Love it keep it coming!!
Your writing will inspire others as you have consistently inspired me.
You inspire me every day!