a serious beginning

Tomorrow is my birthday.

I’m sitting in my little sun- /family- /tv-room in my 1920’s South Minneapolis house, my gin and tonic perched precariously on the sofa arm, laptop open, wondering why it is so many people have told me I need to write a blog.  I mean, my life is BORING, by most standards anyway. I feel self-conscious posting a Facebook update…”The weather is nice today…Yay sun!” is not my idea of riveting content.

Seriously.  I’m a 43-year-old self-employed writer, a mom living in the Midwest–what do I have to say that will be worth anyone’s precious free moments? There’s infinite depth in my absolute lack of depth. So there, all you positive thinkers, you dummies who believe in me.

Seriously. Every day self doubt rears its ugly head, sometimes consuming me, sometimes lurking in the background.  And every day I beat it back.

And so tonight, at the middling, boring age of almost-43, I decided to really have a go at starting a blog.  Impulsively, and spur of the moment. I thought I should do it tonight, so I started writing.  If it sucks, you  know why.

The question I need to answer before I really begin this blog, though, is… “Why?”

Well, perhaps to prove I DO have something worthwhile to say, create a platform for my writing that allows me more freedom than my paid jobs. Perhaps it’s for other middle-aged women with two kids who can’t believe they’re middle-aged with two kids and have this horrible sense that life is passing them by. And wonder why everything got so serious all of a sudden.

Maybe I want to look at the possibilities, the tiny things I can do or think or remember, that mean I am still intrinsically interesting, gorgeous and growing even as I struggle each day just to keep laundry in check, and my marriage and kids healthy while I search for clients, new wrinkles on my face and a better way to organize my life.

There. I think I just started a blog. Seriously.