After more than four years and thousands of posts, I'm contemplating giving up my blog.
There. I said it.
It's not for any other reason than I have trouble finding the time, and I feel some sort of odd responsibility to update on a daily basis because it's expected of me somehow. The combination seems to add pressure at a time I don't need it.
I still get immense pleasure from blogging, especially getting to know people I otherwise never would have met. Getting feedback -- sometimes brutally honest -- encourages me on my difficult days, keeps me grounded, provides advice I hadn't thought of and even helps me see things differently on occasion.
Even more than all that, writing fulfills me in ways I never thought possible when I started. It's almost like a therapy session.
But since I've had Allison, I haven't had any time to devote to it. Instead, I find myself sacrificing what little opportunity to sleep I do get just to jot down a few scrambled thoughts before I pass out. Or bribing Alli with a banana the next morning in hopes that I can slam out a post in the time it takes her to finish it.
More often than not, though, I end up with gooey smears on my pants as she whines at my lap because the computer is one of her favorite toys -- afterall, it is the magic keeper of New York Grandma via webcam and Kelly Clarkson videos.
Then there is the fact that my continued inability to post daily has prompted some not to click here as often. And comments, my second favorite part of this medium next to writing, have dwindled because of it. That and the odds of me having time to respond is right up there with lightning striking twice. Or Allison spontaneously speaking in complete sentences.
The weird thing is, I still wake up or fall asleep writing in my head. My ongoing inner dialogue is strangely in the form of blog posts. (An apparent side-effect of longterm blogging.) I've often thought that if I could invent a way to post just by thinking the words, the blogosphere would run out of space. The ideas are always there, I just can't seem to find time to get them out.
The other voice in my head is telling me to stick with it because there has to be something more to this collection of words than a bunch of URLs -- even if just a singular book I self-publish to hand to my daughter someday. Or to sit and reread on occasion when Jerry and I are retired to remind us of the time he hit me in the face with our Christmas tree stump or Toby jumped out the passenger window of his moving vehicle.
So I guess it's not goodbye. For now anyway. This post actually steered me toward continuing to make time for it when I can -- mostly because the thought of letting it go forms a little knot in my stomach that I just can't, well, stomach.
Maybe when it's time to stop, I won't feel any regret.