an ode to not making time to write: and it’s not okay
Writing consistently over here has been SUCH a challenge this school year.
I am just plain old out of time.
Sure, yes – we all have the same twenty-four hours and all that. And sure, I bet I waste time somewhere too.
But mostly, I’m really living a fast sort of life right now. I think it’s just the nature of the beast of parenting big kids – and so many of them.
And, of course, the nature of single parenting. And of running a growing business. And of teaching at a co op. And of homeschooling.
At night, when I finally have two seconds, which is usually past midnight these days, I just can’t string enough sentences together to write a post that is slightly coherent.
I guess that’s alright.
This blog has never been a major source of income.
But, frankly, it’s been a bigger deal than money to me.
It’s a genuine source of pleasure.
Writing this blog is cathartic.
It’s therapy.
It’s sorting through my thoughts and ideas and understanding what I think and seeing myself more clearly by the end of each post.
It’s connecting with you all and it’s something I miss as a part of my regular routine.
It’s a piece of what’s been off for a couple of months for me.
And the lack of consistency has certainly hurt my readership.
There’s fewer of you sticking around these days.
And I understand that.
Hard to remember to keep up with someone who isn’t keeping up.
I don’t have anything to say about all this.
I don’t have an agenda and I don’t have a resolution and there’s no plan of action.
But I know I breathe a little more openly when I write consistently.
I see my world a little more like sunshine and a little less like rain.
These words and this space have long mattered to my soul.
Perhaps a heap more than I understood.
The last few months have been taxing.
The schedule. The transportation issues. The dollar bills flying out of my bank account. The numbers increasing on the scale. The kids turning 16 and getting a license or a learners permit. Adolescence. Times three. The fear of the unknown. Insecurity.
I need regular exercise. I need a couple thousand dollars. I need a second car. I need some sort of laughing gas to permeate my house through the vents or something so that every kid could get along at the exact same time for a couple of hours. I need a deep breath. I need Jesus.
And it looks like, I need to write more often.
Maybe for you – if you’re still listening.
But mostly, for me.
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7 Comments
Boyd
“Write on”!
laceykeigley
Thank you! I always appreciate your kind encouragement all these years!
Meg
I’m still here, and you’ve never even met me. ; ) Maybe one day. Your posts get delivered right to my inbox when you write, and I usually skip over all the other emails and read yours first. Keep writing when you can. (There are maybe more of us showing up here than you realize.) It’s therapy for you to write, but it’s therapy for many of us to read what you write.
laceykeigley
Hi Meg.
I know it might sound silly, but it seems a little extra something that we’ve never met and you still follow along. It really matters to me – so, thank you very much.
And thank you for the generous and kind words.
Sara
Hold hard, sister. Some of the most beautiful words in Scripture are “and it came to pass.” This, too, will pass as every life season does. In this messy middle don’t let yourself begin to believe the lie that you are not enough. You are.
Enough.
Because.
Jesus.
(Each morning that I wake to your words, I feel like I’ve been given one of those “extra added blessings!” No pressure from here, though. 😏)
laceykeigley
Ah – that messy middle.
We’re solid in it – aren’t we?
You probably have no idea how often I quote things that you have said to me, either to people out loud or to myself in my head. You are a continual source of strength and encouragement to me.
Sara
We are indeed.
And vice versa, friend; your keeping on keeping onThat’s what friends are for—iron sharpening iron!
I love you.