Ahhhhhhhhhhh...

Someone asked me recently if I was going to miss writing this blog when Violet’s first birthday arrives just over four months from today. When they asked the question, the first thought to spring forward was, “Hell, no! It’ll be nice not having to come up with something to write every single night.” But I didn’t say that because 1.) I’m shallow enough to want other people to think of me as some sort of writer (and what kind of writer would want to stop writing?), and 2.) I know that it’s just the lazy side of me thinking those words. I dread the “have to’s” in life, but through some quirk of personality or remnant of upbringing, I am constantly putting myself into situations where I “have to” do things. I’m not talking about the paying bills or going to work – those sort of “have to’s” - I’m talking about the extra things, the things I wouldn’t have to do if I didn’t volunteer for them or come up with them myself. I complain, usually only to Linda, which leads to her continually asking, “Why do you do this to yourself?”, and if I was completely honest, I would say that it’s because of the satisfaction I feel when something I “had to” do is done. At least that’s one reason. A writer once said that he hated writing, but he loved having written, and that’s a thought I can agree with wholeheartedly. I don’t like having to write a post every night, but I love clicking that “publish post” button. Most days, if I don’t have something in mind for the day’s post, and the hours go by and night falls, I grow more and more agitated, even though there have been dozens of nights when I’ve sat down with nothing to write - like tonight - and somehow, an idea forms itself from the frustrated fog of my mind. When the writing is done, I feel like a man reprieved - until the next day. So, in answering the question of whether or not I’d miss writing the blog, I didn’t answer with my first thought because I know my first thought wasn’t completely true. I mumbled something about looking forward to having time for other writing projects, but also knowing that in future years, I might regret not having Violet’s second or third year of life documented here. Both of those things are true, but if I had given myself some time to think, I might have said, “I won’t miss the nightly struggle, but I will miss the nightly satisfaction of knowing that what I just did will be there for Violet to look at whenever she wants, even long after I am gone.”

239 days old