In that funny way life works — a little bit funny ha-ha, a little bit not-funny funny — I re-started this blog again in April, at the height of quarantine quonfusion, because I felt a momentary flare of optimism and hope that maybe I should start writing again, for myself… And then the blog died.
No, really. Gremlins. Or bad juju. Or I spilled orange juice on my blog in the middle of the night, causing it to short out. (I don’t drink orange juice, ever, so that seems unlikely.) But I was unable to publish another post. Which undid me. I pressed all the buttons and made all the prayers, and I even restarted my computer! But nope. WordPress just kept offering up “Unable to Publish Post.”
I wanted to make It All Mean Something Big and Meaningful, but my partner told me “Get over it, and yourself. It just happened.”
But then he went on to fix the problem, by investigating, and then wiping everything out again after not being able to find the problem, but having confirmed that, yes, the site was corrupt and I could not publish, or delete, or edit, or anything. And then he started from scratch and re-launched it. He’s a pretty great guy. But more than that, he really wants me to write.
And so, I begin again, again. Which is perfect since Falling Apart in One Piece (my book) and Filling In the Blanks (this blog, in its many lives) and my one wild and precious life (h/t the great Mary Oliver) have always been about beginning, again, and again. The Buddhist promise and reward. And the simple truth of how life goes. At some point, or if you’re like me, at many, many points, we must begin again.
So I will, and I do, and here I am.