… Or: Some more thoughts about blogging
I’ve talked before about why I blog, and which blogs I love (and why).
One of the things that drew me to the blogosphere, and keeps me there still, is the diversity I’ve found within it.
I read blogs about baking. Health. Nature. Writing. Reading. Life.
And, while the tone of my own blog is rarely confessional, I can’t count how many times I’ve drawn comfort from my fellow bloggers’ brave, confessional posts.
Blogging helps me come unstuck, in all the right ways.
It’s a good path to follow.
Here’s a post that keeps me on the straight and narrow:
Yesterday I got stuck in a bookshop …
It doesn’t happen often, this stuckness, or at least, not this way round: sometimes I can’t leave home for days, but it’s rare I can’t get home. But yesterday afternoon, I was scared, and I was stuck. It was ridiculous, laughable: sometimes anxiety is. Often it is. My fears are myriad, and they are stupid. They aren’t real. They are as real as monsters under the bed or thieves in the hall cupboard: they are stupid. I know that …
I have walked that street a hundred times; this time, I just couldn’t. Just couldn’t.
And then I did. Forty minutes of pacing the bookshop, looking at the sky outside, and then I did it: opened the door, and went out into the street, counting the steps in Roman numerals to distract myself from the gathering sky …
I don’t have any explanations for why sometimes I get stuck. I don’t have a way to fix it, either, except to cook through it, to press through it, to trust that I will, somehow, get through it, and it will, somehow, be over. I don’t know if this post even makes sense to anybody to whom this hasn’t happened; perhaps it doesn’t. But the supper [I cooked at home last night] was nice, all the same. A small victory. And we should celebrate small victories, I think.