I remember a time when I started blogging and I would barely miss a day. It seemed that the words just flowed freely and I had to get them out.
Yesterday, I spent a lot of time going through my archives. I remembered that I had removed quite a few posts (they're still in there, just unpublished now). I look back on some of those posts and remember that person. I've been doing this for almost 7 years now. I can't believe I've had this blog for so long. I used to have regular readers, too. But when my posting, blog reading, and commenting slacked off, often for months at a time, so, too, did the few readers I had. It's okay.
I forgot how soothing it is. This process of letting my fingers go and just type whatever thought runs through my head.
After doing NaBloPoMo for two years, I never quite managed to make it through even the first few days these past four or so years. I consider it quite a personal victory that I made it through the first week and today is my 8th consecutive day of blogging.
I guess the process of living life has gotten in the way of me writing about it. I'd gotten out of the habit. And when you are not in the habit of writing every day, then the aspirations of, oh, I don't know, writing that novel? Well, the aspiration seems daunting, exhausting, and unrealistic.
Today? Not so much. I'm not saying that I'm going to start that novel yet. But it doesn't feel so far off this morning.