So I realise it’s been a while since I’ve actually written anything here. Just cameraphone posts and re-blogs. So I’m sitting here to remedy that, though I don’t really have much to share. I think one of the main reasons we write blogs is because we want to know if anyone is out there, if anyone knows what we know, can relate, can feel the same things we do. It’s a reaching out.
And its probably symptiotic of something profound that I haven’t looked over the ridgeline lately to see if anyone is around. But I’m not sure who or what that would be, and not really even ready or willing to explore that.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this school year is just not my best. It’s probably been the one where I’ve really begun to understand my weaknesses and strengths, which is of course a blessing. But I’m constantly frustrated. And I wonder if that’s just what it takes to teach this age: a tolerance for a certain level of frustration. I don’t know.
Yesterday, I had the most bright-shining morning, like waking up with a clean face instead of a bleary, wrinkled, mussed one. I felt this lightness, this particular joy I can only give back to God—the only source for a feeling like that. It made me feel a love for others, even an awareness of them, that I haven’t felt in so long. I wanted to smile big and generously at everyone.
And more than that, I wanted to write. Really write. My secret/not so secret dream. And for some weird reason, in those thin moments like yesterday, I unfailingly have this gut urge to write. Not to describe that moment, not to get that down on paper, but to get back to that…need. I don’t know why I’ve felt this way for so long, because I’m so inconsistent and don’t really know what to do with such a desire, but after just a feeling like that, I think it’s time to just go into it without questioning, without the assurance of knowing.
And that feels right.
Shantih shantih shantih.