Yesterday at the Festival of Books I felt a combination of encouraged and disheartened.  There's part of me that feels like it's too late, I'm beyond the point of starting to write again, what do I possibly have to say?  And then I think-I was a good writer way back when.  I loved it.  I could love it again.  This "whole blogging thing"-I could jump on the band wagon and just go.  With what-I'm not sure.  Again, I feel old and not up on the new technology to create a "cool blog".   And at this point-just getting words on the page feels overwhelming enough without trying to add photos or make it look pretty.  I don't even know where to start.

I read some of the mothering blogs-and that doesn't particularly feel like me. I'm past the point of being a "new mom" and reflecting on what motherhood means.  I've been a mom for so long-and I don't feel all gooey and starstruck by the whole thing.   I've spanked, and said mean things in the heat of the moment, and checked on boarding schools.  I adore my kids beyond words-and I love them beyond reason.  But being a mother is now part of who I am and doesn't feel strange or like I'm trying on someone else's life.  Even though I've been a stay at home mother for over 15 years, I don't feel like it completely defines me either-so the blog can't just be that.

And the decorating/crafting/home making/recipes/entertaining?  Mixed in somewhere.  Thoughts on celebrity culture? Personal style?  Book reviews?  I hate to be confrontational or offend.

I feel like this is just such a reflection on my lack of "passions".  And then I'm back to where I started.  One foot in front of the other.  Deep breath.  Every journey begins with one step.  Any more cliches I could throw out there?  No one is going to do this for me.  If I want to write, or do "more" there's only one way to do it-and that's to just go ahead.  I don't want to overanalyze or be judge-y.  Just let it flow and see where it goes from here.