If I never have to start another pull mower in my life, I'll die happy.

Lately, I feel like I can’t make sense of much. I think I may have been waiting for more than a year to “get back to normal” but my “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. I know that normals do and should change but I still seem to be confused. I feel like I’m trying to balance something tall on a flutter-board in a pool. It stands up for a little while but water is never still and I shouldn’t expect it to be.

In the last several months I’ve wondered if it would help me to write. But in the last couple days I’ve been wondering if writing is necessary for me to access certain things. I feel like I can’t think or I can’t think deeply or I can’t figure out what I’m thinking. I know that sounds strange and I think that’s why I’ve dismissed it for so long. But my brain feels stuck and I’m reaching a breaking point with frustration.

The other reason I’ve resisted writing, though, is that I don’t want to come off as pretentious and that’s what everything I’ve planned to write during this season feels like. I suspect (good) writing takes patience and I feel I don’t have enough.

So, I'm going to post this, knowing that it's not very good but that perhaps I need to prime the engine. It's been more than a year since I posted and the longer I wait, the more pressure I feel to write something profound on my return (because the silence has been growing continuously). So here is my little splash.