Saturday, January 3, 2015
Last year I wrote a blog. And every day at 8:30 in the morning I would release a new blog post into the world. I'd watch it break from its little green pod, unfurl its tiny, colorful wings, and stumble off unsteadily into the day.
I can make them, but flying is their decision.
In the end I had written exactly 365 blog posts, starting with "My super easy New Year's resolutions", and ending with "I used to be disgusted".
So naturally I am out of things to say.
But fear not. There was never anything to say. We make all that up.
It is not the journey, or the message, or the magic of creation. No one has ever needed to write. It is not for fame or self fulfillment. I do not do it to communicate, praise, witness, or entertain. It is not a habit. It is not a gift.
I just like watching butterflies walk.