It’s Saturday, and I’m sitting in front of my computer, writing a blog post. I decided that I need to write here more, to have a presence. So I’m sitting here, trying to find something to say. During the week I write fiction. My non-fiction muscles need a little work, so I’ve set aside time on Saturday for blogging. But right now I’m struggling for a topic. I’m a little out of practice.
Or I just have nothing to say.
Or maybe I have too much to say. There is much to comment on but there are so many voices—good and bad—that mine would get lost or just add to the cacophony. I could write about racism and white privilege (against and just recognizing the extend of, respectively), I could rage about the latest political assaults on women, gays or the shrinking middle class. But I won’t. There are enough people writing about all those things. What could my small voice add?
The thing is, I want to give something beautiful to the world. I want to create a bubble and keep out the toxicity that exists all around the quiet little space I’ve created for myself here. Right now, I don’t know what that looks like. But here I sit, banging on the keys, eyes closed, trying to find something to say.
That’s a lot of words to tell you that I don’t have much to offer right now. But I’m here. And I will be each Saturday. Something will shake loose eventually. There are stories trapped in my head, moments that I’ve been just too busy or distracted to notice. The little notebook I used to carry everywhere is sitting in the bottom of a purse I don’t use as much since I stopped working. I need to move it where it will do me some good, open it up and take a look and what I’ve forgotten and start jotting anew.
Eventually, muscle memory will kick in and I’ll be awash in ideas. At least that’s the hope. It will be what it will be and the best I can do is the best I can do, moment by moment, day by day.
But I will show up; that much I know.