Start slow. Small. Every. Typed. Word. Matters.
There is nothing to say that matters to anyone. All opinions are instantly voiced and repeated and used. Stacked and compacted. Compressed into new foundations for more opinions. We only write or speak to be heard and adored. I must teach my brain to speak and think into a void. For nothing other than the joy of flexed fingered and new neuro-pathways explored.
Now, if only I had something to say.
I’m empty. I reach this point every day. The cliché bucket is empty. Dry. I just told my youngest that tonight I’m not her mother. Her mother will be back tomorrow. She said. “When my big mama gets back I will be so happy.” So.
At least I’m big.
Went sledding with the kids today. Let the snow stick to our clothes and melt slowly through to our skin. Didn’t care because the air was warm enough to enjoy the rapid passage through. Lived with the kids like I was one of them. Played. Laughed. Enjoyed. Filled my leaky bucket enough.
Today may be the first day of failure. Failure and I are life long friends. Not noble failure either, which comes from noble effort. Shameful failure, which comes from no effort and fear. But lets see. Tides turn. People change. There are miracles, right? Maybe one for me. Let’s see.