Blogger's Block

So, in case you hadn't noticed, I've been suffering a bit of Blogger's Block lately. When I first started writing this blog it seemed that ideas were coming to me left and right, particularly my reflections on the small things in my life that I wanted to share with others. Maybe I tried to get too deep. Maybe becoming an "every Sunday preacher" uses up most of my words (as if). Maybe living near family and friends makes me feel like I don't need to keep them updated via blog. Maybe.

One of the things that I never took care of during the move was buying a new journal; in March I had gotten to the end of another blank notebook. Ever since I was six years old and was given my first diary, I've kept a written journal. Just last week I unpacked the milk crate full of words that record my journey through life over the last 28 years or so. For some strange reason, though, the biggest holes in my journals are where the most important things happened -- one page I'll be graduating high school and the next page I'm home on break from college. One page will be talking about a relationship and the next page will be dated 3 months later and the relationship is over. One page I'll be living in Iowa or Minnesota or wherever and the next page will be four months later and I'm living in a new place. What is it that makes me not write when the journey of life is most interesting? (and, incidentally, when writing would be of most help to me?) I'm not entirely sure, but I think it might have something to do with self-protection.

My friends have described me as "courageous" "adventureous" "bold" and with other words that make it seem like I take life by the horns. But, from my seat, it doesn't always feel that way. And during transitions I am faced with the parts of myself that are "scared" "unsure" and "hurt." I don't like to disclose those things -- that my job is sometimes too hard, that my relationship with Jason is not where I hoped it would be, that sometimes I really miss Grand Forks, that I look at my life and wonder if this is really the life I want. But, the pages of my journal (if not the pages of my blog) do need to hear such truths. They are part of my journey. They are part of me. They are not good or bad. They simply are. And when I can write them out for myself, the blank page of the blog will not be so frightening; it will no longer be a place where I fear I might say too much because I will have already spoken and heard my own truth.

I'm going to walk to Border's now and buy an empty notebook.