I turned ten years old on July 3rd.
Well, not really. I started my blog ten years ago.
I don’t like numbers. Their restrictions go past high school algebra into the mindset of our culture. Numbers can make us feel falsely badass or tragically small. I guess that alone explains why July 3rd came and went without much fanfare.
According to all sources available, ten years is a milestone. I am legit, committed and somewhat of an expert on posting approximately four hundred words every week or so. To steal Ron Burgundy’s line, after ten years, “I’m kind of a big deal.”
The numbers confirm it, validate me.
So, why no party horns or epic post about my journey and all the things I know for sure.
It’s simple. I don’t like counting down, resting on the past, or arriving anywhere. Every day is a new day for me, the first day with whatever is in my backpack at the moment.
If I keep myself open, I leave room to learn from someone’s third blog post (that happened yesterday) or discover what might be missing from my own slice of life (that happens every day). Writing, blogging, living, for that matter, only holds interest for me if I’m learning.
I can’t do that if I’m counting. I never liked math.
Every time I sit down, fingers over the keys, I strive for the same thing–to spill a little more of myself into the mix. I enjoy adding my colors, my words, to the twisted fabric of being human. That’s why I rambled incessantly that first week, and that’s why I’m still here.
Milestones weigh too much. They are not for me.
Instead of confetti, I will pause after a few loads of laundry and say this.
If you read, I thank you. If you write, always honor yourself with your words no matter who or how many are reading. If you are new, face to the sun and enjoy the butterflies. If you’ve been at this blogging thing for a while, remember it’s all about the butterflies.
That’s all from the laundry room. Ten More Minutes.
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