Start at the Beginning

Indeed, let’s start at the beginning.  This is my first entry to this blog and I’ve yet to begin to envisage what I want it to look like, or what I want it to be.

This is a new blog, and I am in the midst of a new beginning in so many ways that it makes my head spin.  Beginnings and returns, to be more accurate.  I’ll start with the returnings… in bullet form no less

  • I have returned for the third time, to Wexford (the southeast of Ireland for those not ‘in the know)  I arrive.  I flee in the night (well, early morning, really).  Go North.  Lick my wounds.  Then the gravitational pull gets me again, and I return.  I’m here three months now.
  • I am returning to writing.  This is not the first return.  I wrote prolifically for years.  Then illness, bereavement, poverty, stress, fear and all that nasty inner head speak that accompanies those types of journeys, rendered me silent. Re-reading Tillie Olson did little to inspire me to reacquaint myself with my writing voice — my silences continued to abide (My dog is named for Tillie Olson; my blog is named for the Tillie the dog, and me, the Tillie Mom).  Will this be my breakthrough?  I cannot say, but it’s a beginning.
  • I am returning to seek out the company/support of other writers.  At the start of this month I attended a poetry reading/slam in a local coffee shop.  It’s a well established group.  I was a blind stranger.  So in that regard, it was a return and beginning rolled into one.  Anyway, I went. I read (shaking like a leaf, my social anxiety putting me through my paces), to a surprisingly responsive group of folks, and it felt beautiful.  I’ll go again at the start of February.

Beginning are another story.  They are still so tentative and fragile and I feel too overwhelmed to convey them in such a way that gives them any meaningful shape.  Trusty bullet points again…

  • I’m beginning to see loss, grief, poor choices and the subsequent silence as not something I can just wait out until it doesn’t feel so shitty anymore.  These things happened.  They are real.  The impact was and is real.  But the only way I can imagine finding the strength and the intelligence (those things seriously zap a girl’s intelligence) is to fake it.  Push myself forward and pretend that I’m doing what I don’t feel I know how to do until I’m doing it, learning how to do it, and don’t have to fake it anymore.  Anyway, I am beginning to give faking a try.
  • I am beginning to grant myself permission to live imperfectly and to accept that about myself in a kind and loving way. I’m beginning to see myself as worthy of being my own friend.  I didn’t kill anyone.  I didn’t hurt anyone.  I just didn’t quite set the world on fire with my unsurfaced, latent awesomeness.  I’ll simply have to do.

So, that’s it for my bullet points, and that’s it for my first blog post.  May it quickly descend to the bottom of my blog role.

I bid you and me goodnight.

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