inkblotter

There was a point in my life when I blogged constantly. Writing was a regular part of my life. And I loved it.

But then something happened.

I became a middle class adult with a job, a car payment, and a 401k.

I stopped blogging. I stopped writing. I stopped reading even.

I went to work. I came home (or walked into the other room, if I was e-working). I watched TV. I made dinner. I watched Netflix in bed. I went to sleep.

I woke up the next morning and did it again.

It was a true blue American life.

There are some things in life I can't change. I have to work. That's part of life, part of getting older.

But the rest? The rest is just kind of sad. I've wanted to change that for a while but for whatever reason, I never seemed to be able to escape the pull of the TV, the ease of sitting down and tuning out, the comforting embrace of the sofa.

When Lent started, I decided to take a small step toward breaking free. I banned Netflix from the bedroom and instead spent that time with a journal, Theology of the Body, and a Bible. A week and a half into Lent I found myself turning off the TV a little earlier and reading a book.

The other night I did a little brainstorming. Something was missing from my life. Sure I was watching less TV and reading more but I wanted to watch even less TV.  That created a problem though: what would I do with that time? If I didn't have a plan, I would fall right back into my couch potato ways.

My initial reaction was that I didn't really have any other option because I'm trying to save money; this summer, my sister and I are taking a trip to India and Thailand and I need every penny I can get to pay for it.

Deciding that there was no way that this was my only option for life, I made a list of things I could do with my time that didn't cost any money.

One thing came up multiple times, in different forms: writing.

It became abundantly clear what I wanted to do. I wanted to write.

Then I remembered how much I loved blogging in the past, how happy it made me to write and publish a post.

Again, that little voice of doubt spoke up: what would I write about? My life isn't that interesting.

But that's just the thing: you don't have to be a jet setting travel blogger to have something to share. You don't have to live in a crazy, fast-paced city or have any "unique" adventure to go on.

The rabbi at my cousin's bat mitzvah a few weeks ago was right: it's the everyday that counts. While she was talking about faith, the same thing holds true for everything really.

There are stories, little bits of magic and excitement, all around you. You have to look for them, but they're there.

I may be living in suburban Maryland, working an average office job. But I don't need to move or get a new job to find something worth writing about.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I'm going to write again. I don't know what about yet but that will come to me.

I tried to make a plan for what I would write. I really did.

Did I want to write a fashion blog? Not really. I don't particularly care for taking pictures of myself. It feels a bit narcissistic to have a hard drive full of photos of myself.

What about a cooking blog? I'm perfectly happy eating the same thing every day for a week.

There's always lifestyle and interior decorating. But that didn't really feel right either, didn't get my motor running.

You know what did feel right? Just simply writing. Writing for the pure joy of writing. No gimmicks. No silly stock photos. Just words.

So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write. Some days I may not blog. I may write short stories. I may start a novel. Who knows? The future is, well, an open book.

And I'm ready to fill that book with something that makes me happy. Truly, deeply happy.