Like having forgotten why you went in . . .

Gray PrairieIt was like walking into a room having forgotten why you went in.  Life gets like that sometimes.  You come to a place and all you see ahead of you is work, pain, and decline.  Of course there would be good days, moments, funny stories.  But there comes a point where colors are just words and everything looks grey.

Then one day I emailed a story to a friend.  She really enjoyed it and asked if she could post it on her blog.  She wondered if I had ever considered blogging.  She thought I might be good at it.  Maybe it was just the lure of something new, but I felt a thing I hadn’t felt for much too long.  I felt excitement.

It’s been almost a year, which seems like a good time to reminisce, doesn’t it?  That first post was frightening, and I’m not sure it’s gotten much easier.  I put a little bit of myself out there on the internet every week, and wait to see if anyone else relates.  The curious thing is that every week someone does.

Most of my posts include images.  I dream in color, and to post without it would be deceiving.  Whether I am using my Nikon Coolpix S220 or my Motorola Droid Razr, I like to illustrate my own story if I am able.  Toting a camera has caused me to start looking for the things I’d forgotten were there.

Humans crave surprises.  It’s what makes our heart soar when a melody changes key.  It’s why we hop on a haunted hay ride.  It’s why the best films don’t end like you thought they would.  As I looked through my lens, wonderful surprises came into focus in the most routine of places.

There are friends I have met along the way.  And I remind myself they are not real friends, but friends who know me only through what I share on the pages.  Yet, when one of them shares some humor, I laugh.  When one hurts, I shed tears.  When there is bad news, I worry.  If there is another definition of friendship, I do not know it.

Even more curious is this relationship I’ve reignited with myself.  Like taking a step onto the yellow brick road, color seeped into ordinary things.  Everyday tasks became metaphors.  It took me only minutes to come up with the tag-line, “Seeking all things peaceful, balanced, whole and precious,” after deciding I needed one.  Of course!  It was not that these things did not exist.  It was that I had failed to keep looking for them.

And this is the moment, after having forgotten, that I remembered why I had gone into the room.

Peace . . .

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9 thoughts on “Like having forgotten why you went in . . .

  1. Isn’t it wonderful how blogging can get us to look at our lives with fresh eyes? I enjoy reading your posts and seeing your pictures. You very often set me to looking at something I would not have seen otherwise.

  2. First….something ….sort of goofy ~ I love the sad face toast…and the produce photo.

    And … *gentle smile* … you ARE a real friend in my head. Nod nods….

    And … I LOVE your blog posts…a lot….even fi the series is no more…. what I love more…WAYYYYYYYY more…is reading of you *smiles*

    1. You are one of my dear friends I thought of when I wrote this.

      And … I couldn’t stop now if I tried. I am always keeping my eyes and heart open to what I might post next, which means I am keeping my eyes and heart open to what is there in front of me. For some reason, this is has become my therapy, like a journal only somehow different. I think I’m afraid that if I stopped my world would go back to grey . . .

  3. Jean, I am so glad you started blogging, It makes my day when I see a post from you in my inbox. I love all the pictures but my favorite is the downspout. Hope you keep blogging for a very long time I count you as one of my dearest online friends.

    1. Thank you, truly. You are one of my dearest friends, too. After all, we are sisters, aren’t we? Ha! Lois, I live for your comments! Thank you for counting me as one of your friends.

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