Not in a, "I want to quit my job tomorrow" way, but in a quiet, genuine way.
I have been narrating through my journey of motherhood for over two years. I enjoy sharing the day-to-day blood and guts of what it means to be a mom, but I always feel there is more to say. And then I think, who wants to read the inner workings of my brain? Not that I am so concerned with how I will be received, but I have this guilt about being self-gratifying and indulgent. Then I struggle to take myself seriously. Even now, as I edit these words the voice in my head is Carrie Bradshaw's and I envision that this is not an open jar of peanut butter next to me (that I am eating by the finger-swipe-full), but instead, some fancy red wine that I drink while nestled in my white, down comforter.
I also fear that I will contribute to the mountains of empty words that have been freely given to the internet's users. I loathe most circulated blog posts- catchy titles for articles excusing people's shitty behavior. I don't want to be another contributor to the masses of unfounded opinions and half-inspired stories. So it is with fear that I admit that I want to jump onto this ship.
As someone who has anxiety, I have learned enough about myself to know, that my anxiety is greatest when I am trying to shut myself up. Trying to quiet the stirring of ideas and options in my mind, and resisting newness, make my problems greater.
Yet, still I want to write.
I did something crazy and applied for graduate school, not for writing, but for teaching. I am nearing 30 and have one child under two. I work full time and my husband has a job that requires a lot of travel. Everything is nuts right now, but I really hope I get in.
I went to the campus last week to see some of the work the current students are doing and I was so inspired. Walking the halls of academia, even using the lavatories of academia, rejuvenated me! Things were quiet there. All the learners were there on their own volition. I remembered studying. I remembered I was a thinker. I remembered I was a scholar. A spark of pre-mom me was awakened. A spark I had ignored in recent years. The spark of seeking knowledge and using my brain in creative and constructive ways.
I left that night feeling so much. I wanted to write it all down, so I decided to start a new blog. Some other anonymous channel full of philosophy, musings, short stories, and poems. But as I pulled into my driveway, thinking of my son inside, it hit me. I truly believed that my creative-self and mom-self were so separate from each other they each deserved their own web address.
Sinking into this realization, I saw the fatal flaw of dividing myself in half. I felt the heaviness of realizing that I already had. I made a decision to put it all together. To be both a mom and artist. (I use that term very loosely.) I will allow myself to be both those things.
So with that- Farts on Parade will be adding some new subject matter to the pages. Not all the time and it probably won't be good (at least not for a while, writing takes practice), I am going for it. I will still write about my little bubba and his antics, as this blog is my love letter to him, but perhaps a little snippet of my writer's dreams will come along with it.
