"You should really write."

Over the course of a few years I've heard that. And this is my general reply,
"But what would I write about?"

See, that response is all about fear. I too have heard the whisper in my heart that I should be writing. I've been ignoring that whisper.

"Who will read it?" says the brain. "Who cares?" answers the heart.
"What if it takes off and everybody reads it?" says the brain. "Who cares?" answers the heart.

I'm not sure at this point, which one is more terrifying.

As I write this, this is simply a place to start. The kind of thing that starts as a seed and will have to grow into its own thing. I don't have a vision, or a hope for it yet. What I hope is that, ultimately, the direction I want this to take is a legacy of some sort. Gifts that I hope I can give to my sons. I know that I am hoping that in between that rambling, I want to give them some life lessons, philosophies, dreams, hopes, wishes. And mostly that their mom was just a real person. She had hopes and dreams, and that she had huge fears. Oh and she screwed up A LOT.

My life is not extraordinary. It is simply a journey filled with a lot repetitive motions, with a few big moments in between.

Welcome to my ordinary life.