Losing Everything and Why I Blog

Imagine you have lost everything you know as true. 
One day you are taking your children to school, swinging your arms, skipping across the sidewalk.  It’s May.  The neighborhood is starting to live again.  The dogs next door are starting to bark again.  The fine hairs on your arm are starting to lighten in the sun. This is your world, you aren’t happy or discontent.  You are being and doing because those are the most familiar things to be and do.
The next morning it is pouring rain and you can’t find an umbrella.  You wake up late and no one wants to wear boots or coats.  Your son forgot his lunch box at school.  He is crying.  You take them to school anyway.  You drive them in the car, squinting between the windshield wipers whooshing.  Then you go home and think
I am not really living.
I am sleeping.  I am breathing.  I am shuffling down the pavement of tomorrow. 
I do not like this being.  I don’t like this doing.
And maybe it is the rain that makes your courage grow, but you tug hard and harder yet until you pull out the budding root of your existence by the branches. 
Then it is done and you have your life in your hands.
Then what would you do?
This was me, two years ago. 
And after I cried sad-for-myself, scared-for-myself sobs, after I called my mother and my best friend and walked around the backyard barefoot and terrified.  The next thing I did
Was write.
That was right, for me.
At first I blogged because it was for me.  It was because I had to put the feelings and the loathing, the fear and hating-him frustration someplace other than my own bones and skin.  
I would go and write and let it go and just write.  It was cheap therapy and it paid for itself. 
Ten fold.
 I gave it all away to the kind faceless faces who sat and chewed on my words and selfish musings.  And the more they joined me at the table of my discontent, the more I learned that we were all eating the same meat and drinking the same wine.   And that was comfort food to me.
Blogging is a community.  It is a community of writers and readers, all of us who feel the feels of losing and loving and the nothingness space of the being lost.  Or maybe you didn’t lose everything, but you—the readers and other writers—understand the pangs in the throat of losing something.  Maybe you don’t have the same troubles, but your troubles are mine.  Or we forget all about all of it when we are laughing. 
This is what blogging does for me, as a writer and a reader, as someone you read and someone who reads you. 
And I have made friends anew and friends with you, so many of you!
I had a friend once and he is my friend again, because of writing. 
Like me, he created a new life when faced with scary changes.
Like me, he thought writing would make him feel better.
Everytime I read his blog, I realize that change is inevitable.  And that focusing on the community of writing is much nicer than the competition of it.  So when he writes something wonderful (which he very often does) I can be proud and amazed.
So that’s my story (but you already knew it, didn’t you?)
Read his story and it can be yours too.
Are you imagining that you have lost everything you know is true?
Is it as bad as you fear?

Or are you surprised?  
Once you lose IT all, you realize that whatever IT was… 
you didn’t really need it as much as you thought you did anyway. 

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