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It’s been several years since my first blog. My first blog was one I really loved. I was a new mom. Everything our daughter did was picture-worthy. I would creep down at night after the house went dark, jiggle the mouse, and write. Some days I wrote for half an hour. Other times it would be the middle of the night before I stopped. Back then it seemed like the words just flowed. I captured small moments (first words). And big events (family wedding). I documented all the things in our life that could seem mundane but, when blogged about and captured in one blissful photo, became heroic. Then one day I went in to write and through some nasty programming error, my blog froze. It stayed that way. After months of trying to correct it what followed was a long period of “If only…” excuses as to why I could not write. If only I had a couple more hours of sleep. If only the house were quiet. If only I had a special little place to write at home. With a view. And a koi pond. And from there: If only I had a better camera. If only I had no personal debt. If only I could update my tee shirts (which is all my wardrobe consisted of during those early years.) Wait. I’m wearing a tee-shirt right now. You get it. There were so many reasons to not continue this hobby. Despite the pure joy it could bring me.

About a year ago I came close to starting another blog. This time I used different mental roadblocks. Things like having the seed of an idea and self-censoring it into oblivion. Or becoming overwhelmed by small design choices: the font, the background color and oh! look how cool this other blog is…mine sucks…forget it. I would walk away again and again. Easily I could blame this on my somewhat obvious type-A personality flaws. But to look at it truly, honestly, it was just fear. Fear of failure. Fear of writer’s block. Fear of growing.

Having recently celebrated a milestone birthday, I realize now the idea of not growing is no longer an option for me. And while it’s taking some time to sort out, if I were to try to explain it would go something like this: To know (and believe) that good enough is, simply, good enough. Sometimes things aren’t as you’d like them to be; but do them anyway. Because there will never be a moment as perfect as the one you are in. No matter what is happening, it will never be more perfectly sad, or bad or stunningly sweet as it is when it’s actually happening. And this is what makes it so perfect. I have spent the better part of my adult life seeking perfection and trying to be good at things: working, partnering, mothering. But what I realize is that I have self-censored myself into a hole just trying to be good. So with that, herein lies post one. Courage. The courage to actually post this. The courage to start something new that I know is not perfect and to be happy with it. I’m not sure where this blog will take me, but I’m certain it’s better than anything else I’ve done. And that’s because it’s what I’m doing. Right. Now.

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