Yesterday, my Facebook memories reminded me that three years ago I announced that I’d return to regular blogging. Reader, it did not happen. The last post here was on my 40th birthday nearly 18 months ago and these days I mostly use WordPress for work. But I’m still a blogger, just like I’m still an LA girl, and a runner on a 9-year hiatus. I still find a lot of value in recording the mundane and the special. The relationships I made at the height of my mid-20s blogging career are still important. I still value the conversation and inspiration that can come from sharing my own words. I still love stories.
Last year, I received a Becoming journal which features quotes and prompts from Michelle Obama. It was Galentine’s Day gift from a colleague at work. I didn’t use it in earnest until a month ago when I tried to do about one prompt a night. As I responded to the prompts, I realized that I’d already written on many of the topics here. I can go through my archive and find a number of posts about my childhood, what it was like growing up in Hacienda Heights, the many activities I started and didn’t continue as a child but still formative, my family both immediate and extended. But those were all written from a different lens. Home was only a 30-minute drive away — without traffic. I wasn’t a mother. I could reconnect more easily to those places that made me. My maternal grandparents were still alive. The time and distance has altered my perception and how I want to tell stories.
It made me realize that one of of my biggest obstacles to returning to regular blogging — I’ve already written about everything I want to share in this medium — doesn’t really apply. Of course, time is still there and plain old ganas.