Next week is the second anniversary of this blog. My goal is to write something special for that Sunday. In the mean time, here are some words of gratitude for those who have supported me these past two years. Hopefully you will continue to do so.
In July of 2015, I uploaded the final post of my first blog run (it lasted about a year). Then I took a sabbatical. Actually, I gave up. For the next five years, I did not write, except lengthy Facebook posts and text messages. However, at the end of March of 2020, the Lockdown began, and uncertainty took root. In response, I made the decision to blog again.
But, this time, I wanted my blog to work. For some reason, there was an urgency. An idea took hold in my mind that I needed to land right with my first post. I would have this one moment to grab the attention of family and friends, and I wasn't going to throw away my shot (yes, I just referenced the musical, Hamilton). That required a strong introduction.
Therefore, I changed my approach to writing. For the first time in my life, I would draft and revise. Yes, all throughout elementary school, high school, and college, I never edited any of my essays, papers, or stories. Now, I did kind of edit as I went along, cleaning up obvious spelling and grammar mistakes. Or rearranging sentences within a paragraph. However, once I was done, I never looked back. Even if I wanted to review, thanks to my procrastination, I did not have the time. Unfortunately, one habit led to the other.
So, two years ago, I wrote at least four or five essays, each several paragraphs long. They all had different styles, distinct voices, even disparate content. Yet, beneath the mess, swirled two connected, but unique thoughts. They were the ones I wanted to share.
Now, you would think I would have been thrilled with all this written material. I could just pick out the best slivers and tie them together. Instead, I was scared. My writing sounded long and meandering; my ideas convoluted and foolish. People would get bored. Not understand my thoughts. They would not return. I considered splitting it up into two posts. Easier on the eyes and mind. For a moment, there was a relief. However, that passed quickly. Anxiety struck again. How do I divide it up cleanly and logically?
That is when I did something else foreign to me. I sought feedback on my writing from a peer. In the past, only my teachers critiqued my words. I cannot remember ever sharing my stories with family or friends. It would have left me vulnerable. Yet, this was different. I needed assistance. But it could not be just anyone. This person had to have heard my "voice" before, and recognize my "style". Someone who would be honest and know how to critique me effectively. More importantly, they had to be from the very past I was attempting to navigate and explain in my early blog posts. Those preliminary blog posts would be a roadmap for both the reader and me; therefore, my initial editor had to grasp my intent.
This meant reaching out to a former co-worker. She was a literature teacher, and she was there, along side me, when my teaching career ended. I have great respect for her approach to books and writing. She is well educated and thoughtful. More importantly, she has a kind and generous heart.
Yet, it was still a difficult call. Right now, I cannot remember how long it had been between the school ending and that call--I can assure you, at the time I started dialing her phone number, I had a clear idea of that gap. It was that interlude that made me hesitate. Along with the regrets. The self-loathing. The shame.
If I wanted to escape the emotional hole that I had dug across said time, I needed to reach out to her. With a deep breath, I placed the call. She answered.
And we talked.
And talked.
And talked.
After about two hours, a weight had been lifted, and my drafts were uploaded to Google Drive. When she was done reading my work, she understood my dilemma. We discussed it further, went over options. Nothing she said surprised me, except, maybe how she enjoyed reading it, and how she appreciated my voice and style. Those two reveals meant a lot to me. Still, all her points and observations were essential to my confidence and growth. Now I could move forward.
And that is what I did. With her input and encouragement, my blog was reborn.
Over the next two years, I would receive praises and compliments for my blog posts. The simple "Likes" my former students would place on my Facebook page whenever I posted a link to my blog. The ongoing responses from my cousin and sister that would waffle between "lol" and "Oh my!" Then there were the specific comments, like the encouraging "I really enjoy learning all these new things about you" from a fellow dance studio parent. Or the words of support from my daughters' former dance teacher. And then there was the simple, random "you write well" text from a well-read good friend. Embarrassingly, I have milked that one for the past year. Of course, knowing that my daughter takes time to read my blog (and some times responds with an heart emoji) has been rewarding. Realizing my wife spends time first thing in the morning to read my posts, and occasionally shares her reactions, has been fun and motivating. And having my mother talk up my blog directly to me--and to my siblings--has been both inspiring and satisfying.
All these responses have strengthened my resolve to continue blogging.
In the end, though, none of this would have happened, without my former co-worker's generous support. For that I am eternally grateful.
Thank you, everyone!
(Oh, wait, and then there is that other major force that propelled me to hit "publish" two years ago... but I will leave that for a future post.)
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