Wherein I disclaim nothing, and embarrass myself fully in the end

A surprise to no one, communicating how you feel in a certain moment or time without coming across as having no understanding of your situation at all is difficult.  Anyone who writes on a blog, or perhaps anywhere, knows this. Reality is perception, right?  And aside from leading or concluding with a thousand disclaimers, there really isn’t any perfect way of saying “I know how this sounds, and I also know what you’re going to say.” Even if I did do that, it wouldn’t always work, either.

So when I sit here today, at the start of another week, it’s going to seem even more confusing when I start talking about how things are good. It’s hard to communicate that without sounding like I’m riding some scary roller coaster over here.  While, yes, some days I am—I suppose we all are—it’s also part of what I try to do when I sit down and start typing. I try to somehow stay true to the moment and those feelings of that moment because, if nothing else, I know one thing for certain: they will not come around again.

Those exact feelings of watching the evening summer sun hit the trees, and that longing for what’s next that’s fueled by those winding paths and the clink of dishes on someone’s back porch are never just as they were that night, at that time. I’m never seeing and hearing those things as the same person again. I think by sitting down, typing exactly what’s on my mind, with no disclaimers in sight, I honor that moment, even if only for myself.

I guess I’d say that’s the point of doing this at all. It’s strange because I know there’s such a small portion of people I’ll ever know here in this place, but there’s something special about it. That “small” is relative, because it often feels HUGE.  Writing it is only part of the journey. There’s a connection here and there’s something about sharing those never-again moments that makes them last.  There’s something about reading about someone’s weekend or babies or vacation that creates an experience that is like no other.

And if that’s too much emotion for a Monday, we can always rely on my lack of grace to bring things back to normal.  Over the weekend, I sat in wet paint. And no one told me, so I walked around for a good two hours with a couple narrow white stripes on my butt. And that moment and all those feelings of making that happy little discovery, too, will never come around again. Thankfully, it can live on the Internet forever.