I Don't Have Time for This Blog

I don't have time for this blog, but I'm resurrecting it anyway.

It's taken me almost 50 years of living to realize that a great many of the things we think are most important aren't, and the things we woefully push to the margins when other duties call might just matter most: art, writing, music, or even the simple act of picking up an imperfect autumn leaf like a toddler and hanging it on the fridge as a reminder of crunchy fractured delight.

You know very well the things I mean: the really important stuff that feels just vaguely out of reach. The moments that maybe you don't allow yourself the space to pause and enjoy amid school pick-ups, deadlines, and hardcore adulting such as selecting the most appropriate shade of Berber carpet.

There will always be more meetings, more reports, more checklists. And I promise, one day you'll spill wine or coffee on that carefully-selected carpet of yours and never fully get the stain out. But the pastel you took an hour to craft, the extra minutes you spent hugging and talking with your kid about almost nothing and just about everything, or the hand you held for just a moment longer to say thank-you a beat extra -- those are the things that last.

My husband could be horrified if I tell the world that he loves the movie, The Notebook - not exactly on brand for a six-foot-four NY Mets-loving dude from Brooklyn. Oops, too late. Sorry not sorry. He has often quoted a Nicholas Sparks line from The Notebook when trying to snap me back into a space of deepened self-fulfillment (and also Ryan Gosling).

"You want to paint, so paint," - Noah.

Yeah, there's something to that, isn't there? There's a peace in picking up the brushes again, slapping them wet and multi-colored against the side of the easel to remove the excess, and just trying to see if you can bring the picture to the canvas in a way that makes you smile. Or if you don't have time for all that, pulling out your pastels and having at it.

So, here I am again, inviting you to come along with me for the ride on my crooked bicycle of words, words, words - worn down training wheels, faded white basket with a plastic lopsided pink and yellow daisy (broken but still hanging on) and all.

I promise, we'll have a little fun along the way.