It’s hard. The words come haltingly, and I find myself preferring to flee, rather than press on. To shut my computer and return to my morning routine, leaving words unwritten, yet floating around my head.
It’s been a quiet season, friends. A long one. And while in a sense it would be easier to leave this space be, the words build up. And so I sit, aching to let free to words, yet struggling to do so.
I’m rusty, can you tell?
Yet, writers gonna write.
There’s so many things I’ve been meaning to write about, and yet haven’t. The tiny house transformation. The joys of my church community. The quiet solitude of winter, and the brilliant renewal of spring. Cambodia! But I’m unused to digging deep and filtering through the words. I’ve forgotten how, yet at the same time yearning to write again.
And so, here I am. Shifting through the words, memories, and emotions. Trying to figure out what come next, yet at the same time trying to stem the flow of words, which threaten to spill out uncontrolled.
Maybe none of this makes sense. To my writer people it will, I suspect. But all you need to know is that I’m back. And as these words eek out of my brain, through my fingers, and onto the keyboard, a sense of familiarity returns. Amid the scent of freshly-brewed coffee wafting through early morning air in the tiny house, I find myself returning to familiar ground.
This is a place I need to be, here in this writing space.
Welcome back, dear readers. I’ve missed you too.