Just the other night I decided to go back to this old blog and remember what my life used to look like. Reading through some of the posts and poetry I realize that my life lost the magic. Between making a living, raising a child, and watching my marriage fall apart, I just didn't make time for it. I also know that magic was there all along. It was just hidden behind all my challenges that demanded my attention.
But on occasion, as I watched the sun go down, or sat in the silence with my back against a venerable tree, I felt it in my bones. While I felt the skin on my arms prickle with anticipation, a deep sadness set in. I knew I was lost, but I didn't know how to be found. So many days and nights passed without that magic that I stopped expecting it to show up. And those days turned into years.
With the magic gone, the writing went away, too. I had ideas, but I couldn't make sense of them. They turned into forgotten scribbles in a notebook that went nowhere.
I've missed the magic, and the late nights sitting in front of the screen putting thoughts together. I missed the way the old scribbles went somewhere. Over the weekend I decided that I'm ready to find the magic again. So here I am, showing up. And I expect the magic will show up again too. I just have to meet it halfway.
I'm not sure what the writing's going to look like, or what topics will show up. All I know is that over the last few years I've forgotten why I write. I used to say that writing is how I make sense of the world. Perhaps that's why the last few years have made no sense at all.
I have more time now and fewer challenges. My head's started to clear, although my heart still needs a little work. But I'm here, on the page, finding a way to make sense of the world. And that's a start.
