Every now and again there is a flurry.
Changes… changes everywhere. Many lives at once seem suddenly to be at the pivotal point; there will be a flurry of deaths, births, occupation alterations. Maybe crisis. Maybe love.
It happens here, too. In blog-land. Suddenly, old friends seem to be packing up, moving to a new u.r.l, or quitting the blog gig altogether. Some ride it out with a brief hiatus. Others grit their teeth and pull through, trying to ignore the weird sensation of a survivor stayin’ behind in the electronic silhouette of a ghost town.
I’ve pulled up roots once before, deleting a blog with one simple push of a button. Since then, there have been instances where I briefly considered calling it quits. It takes time, this daily endeavor. Undoubtedly there are more self-rewarding ways to see time invested.
But I’ve decided to stick around at this address for several change flurries to come. My thoughts are comfortable here; and the community, familiar but changing, is a good one in my estimation.
It’s a little tough when people pack up their blogs and you know in your heart there’s no forwarding address. I get weirdly attached to familiar things, even things I don’t like very much. And when people quit their blogs, they usually really *go*, cus it’s about more than just time. For some it’s time to move on from a whole stage of life. There won’t be room in the new identity to send small, perfectly formed spirals of irrelevant thought across the distance to mere strangers.
For my part, the time investment is worthwhile. Because my mind.. it’s restless, and this blog is always open for me. Sometimes I need the act of deposit, the simple laying down of words. I travel here when my body is forced toward stillness. It’s how I break out of the pocket of a vacuum, when I can’t find air between my mattress and the stars. Who knew, huh? The little bit of nutsy that drives the writing impulse… probably I’m not the only one. Steady and persevering as any personality might be, there’s a need that drives the written word; sometimes a deep need.
So, for those who’ve gone away for a little while, the porch light’s shining, and your return is gently anticipated. For those who’ve gone and aren’t coming back, I remember reading you, I do. Your words still shape a little window into memory. And for those who’re weathering the changes with pictures and paragraphs, it’s awfully nice to read you and to know you’re still out there, somewhere, building fragile bridges out of words.