If there’s one quality I admire in myself, it’s my stubbornness. Some call it grit, others call it moxie, but I just call it stubbornness, probably because it manifests in lots of different ways. These manifestations aren’t always immediately positive. But.

No matter what, I am stubborn. If there’s something I want, I am determined to have it. If there’s something I want to do, I will figure out how. It may take me a while. I may (okay, I definitely will) complain about it if it’s hard. But I’m stubborn and I’m going to get there.

This isn’t a thinly-veiled humblebrag. I said my stubbornness hasn’t always worked out in my favor, which is true. It has, however, always, always, always worked out for my growth and good, even if I couldn’t see it at the time.

So, stubbornness. Who cares? I guess I do. A few years ago (almost four to be exact), I decided I wanted to start a blog. I have stubbornly kept this blog—its hosting, domain name, and all its ilk—for four years now, updating intermittently, going dark for months at a time.

I still haven’t given up that goal of really starting a blog, writing regularly (consistently, even!), sharing my experiences with the world. All that junk. I know that as an avid consumer of online content, I look for writers that connect with their audience. I think there’s a lot to be said for the Return of the Authentic Blog™ …  and I’m gonna talk about that in an upcoming post, I think.

All that being said, you can take one look at my sidebar and … you will probably notice I haven’t updated since February of 2018. Oops. THE REAL IRONY IS THAT I WENT RADIO SILENT ON A POST THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE RECURRING CONTENT. HA HA HA. That’s what I call comedy.

A lot has happened since February, some of which I will keep pretty private, some of which I’m sure I’ll talk about eventually, none of which I feel like talking about currently. Things look so different than they did then. February and March were rough, and in early April, it all sort of came to a really horrible head and … kaboom.

One of the things I started doing when my life exploded was journaling. You know, in a paper journal. I have some friends who roll their eyes at me calling it a journal. They want me to call it a diary. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s a diary. Is there some sort of difference? I don’t know. Talk amongst yourselves.

Regardless of what you’d call the book I kept it in, I started writing. Daily. About everything. The mundane little things that happened. What I ate for lunch. The bills I needed to pay (not fun). Things I saw (sometimes fun). Whatever thoughts were swirling in my head (sometimes fun, sometimes really not fun). The feelings I felt I couldn’t publicly express.

I just wrote. And it was really good. Healing, even. I felt like writing made things less dire. Things suddenly weren’t merely happening to me; I was happening in the midst of them.

Right now, I’m not writing daily in my journal, mostly because I don’t feel the practice immediately necessary to keep me from going bonkers. I write here and there as I please, and it’s just as good as it was when I was writing daily. I had forgotten how much I liked writing.

I like writing. I like writing for myself. I like writing for other people. I just like to write.

I didn’t forget my blog. I’ve probably thought about my blog every single day since the last time I wrote. I’ve also thought about the millions of things that people like to tell folks they should or have to do with their blogs … and I got overwhelmed and annoyed and felt behind and inadequate and just … didn’t write here.

I’m looking forward to sharing things again–not because I have to, but because I want to, because I like to do so. It’s October, after all, and I’m stubborn. I won’t let this season pass by without squawking about it on the Internet.