I don’t know what I’m doing. No one does. 

I do know that I write. Writing is in me, and it’s saved me – in journals, in books, in letters, in speeches, in blogs…

I don’t know how many blogs I have. By my count it’s at least 7 including this one and tumblr. (Kudos to you if you find my tumblr. I can’t.) In fact, this blog was previously another with entirely different content. Instead of figuring out how to make a new blog, I deleted all of the old posts and started writing this one.

I do know that sometimes I’m impatient and rash.

There are so many blogs because there are so many different parts of me – the artist, the explorer, the dancer, the teacher, the drinker, the grad student, the teetotaler, the arts administrator, the drinker again, the teetotaler again, the wife, the friend, the daughter, the sister, the private introvert, the writer who wants to share her thoughts with the world…

The woman, healing and growing. Succumbing to the breakdowns. Digging deep, holding tight, and letting go. Trusting that she can be accepted as one whole of all these different parts, allowing space for that light within.

The content of this blog is to be determined. I imagine it will be a combination of all the above, still healing and growing, with bouts of creativity I want to share along the way.