The end.
No, seriously, I just found this post in my drafts and it consisted entirely of those six words. I laughed, ruefully.
I am of the personality that leaving something unfinished--be it a novel, our remodel-in-progress dining room, or a bag of M&Ms--makes me cringe and gives me fits of anxiety. I often ensure that things are finished just for that reason.
This neglected blog? Sky-rocketing, cringing anxiety.
My dad used to tell me, to my utter annoyance, "If it's something you want to do, you'll make time for it."
I hate this because it's true. I've discovered that if I make up excuses not to do something, it's because, deep down, I don't want to do it. Maybe it's hard or overwhelming, or I don't know where to start.
When I had my first cranky, needy, wonderful child, writing just fell by the wayside. There wasn't time for it. But somehow, now, with four cranky, needy, wonderful children, I'm writing more than ever. I find the time, whether it's late at night when everyone's asleep, or a handful of minutes during the day when the kids are entertained by something else. I want to write, so I make time for it.
Maybe the trick to finishing what you start is loving what you started. Otherwise, what's the point?
I love this blog I started over TEN years ago, and even though I've taken a hiatus, I'm going to finish (or continue, whatever) what I started.
Sticking with it,
The Brown-Eyed Girl
