Dipping my feet in the water

It's been a while. Months.
And the more time that stretches between writing
The more intimidating it becomes to type

Which is a shame. Because life has been so exciting. So calm. So many stories and so many dreams.
And I've been terrible about documenting it, let alone sharing it.
I've gotten better about taking pictures.
And tweeting snippets of moments and thoughts.
But it's not the same.
I hate to think of all the small stories, the jokes and the private thoughts that have slipped to the wayside of memory lane.

For years I wrote in an online journal. Only one or two people knew of it and had access and even then most of what I wrote was private. I hold pens wrong, I'm not sure why, I've never been able to break the habit, but it means my handwriting is terrible and my hand cramps a fter a few lines. So despite lusting for all the beautiful leather bound journals that I've run across in my travels, a handwritten diary just isn't practical for me. But typing has always been easy. And so I had an online journal. Since 2005 maybe? But last year the site changed... updated... was bought out... well something happened and everything was lost. Well, not lost. But getting my writing back was going to be difficult and honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to find it. There were a few painful years, lots of lost meanderings and heartbreak. There's always heartbreak. And maybe it's better to leave those thoughts lost in universe. Kind of a symbolic burning.

There's a lightness to my spirit living here. It sounds like hippie, earthy, bullshit. But there is. Some combination of moving away, leaving all the drama, living near the ocean, being with Fix, the exploring and the city and maybe just getting older and growing up, but it's working. The desperation to be content, the climbing the walls, being lost... I wouldn't say it's gone. But it's quiet. Sleeping. And life is a joy.
But it was hard to pick up writing again. Even if it was just for myself.

But two days ago something reminded me of a friend I've lost contact with. And I found myself mentally writing about her. About the connection and friendship and love that we had.

So here I am. Typing. Not about her, but I'm sure that will come.
It feels good.
I'll try to come around again more often.