I’ve felt like writing and posting here over the past couple of months. Ideas have come to me, and I’ve jotted them down, even fleshed some out.
But there is just so. much. out. there. right now.
Diatribes about Trump. About Hillary. About #blacklivesmatter. About #alllives matter. About the sexist and nationalist reporting from the Olympics. About wildfires. About flooding. About trivia. About so.many.things.
Can I add to the conversation in a meaningful way, or am I just contributing noise to an already cacophonous internet? Living out of our car in remote areas for a month taught me lots of lessons about simplicity, about reconnecting, about grounding myself. About the benefit of quiet spaces in the woods when we can hear nothing but our own thoughts.
I’ve struggled since we arrived back home. I finally admitted that to myself last night. While being back to the fall semester work is giving me routine again, I feel untethered again. Swept up by the sounds and words, swirling among clouds of still-formulating ideas like it’s some sort of media vacuum that sucked me out of my own quiet self-awareness.
I’ll be back to writing and posting here soon, I’m sure, but I’m writing just for myself for a bit. To process. To breathe. To quiet. To ground.