When I started writing here long ago, I did not begin with the end in mind. Even my purpose for writing then was completely different than it is now. But today I am here in this entry with a clear purpose, the end very much in mind.
This is my final blog entry.
I knew when I pulled together my vision board last December that this would be the last year. I had nothing really to go on, but I was sure of it. Late Summer felt right, even as we are on the brink of my favorite season, so that I could still document our great big travel for the year, and that story and its images would live bound at the end of my collection of blog books. I do intend to write more, though not in this forum.
As I have allowed the reality of this decision settle into me over the last few days, knowing that it was time to write the last one, I feel about this much the way I did about the last day of third grade, cleaning out my green metal desk with the smooth, blond wooden writing surface. Taking all of the items out and packing them in my backpack, maybe finding a few things I'd not thought about in a little while, happy to take the break from school, twinges of sadness for what was over. There is much to come- so very much for myself and my family that I could potentially document, and yet somehow I feel complete, here. Both my writing and my personal growth are moving away from the wide open internet, and though there are unsure moments in my releasing that bring about uneasiness, I am dedicated to moving with the silent flow that both nudges me and calls me at the same time.
The part of this post that is most difficult, and also the easiest to write, is where I somehow say thank you, those two words terribly inadequate for the profound gratitude I feel for those I have met during my seven years in this space. I have met friends with whom I lost weight, raised babies, celebrated birthdays. I announced my pregnancy with Marin, here, and readers far and wide cheered for Team Pink, and you prayed with us as she underwent her kidney surgery. I have written about death, here, and God and depression and struggles with parenthood. And lord knows I expressed my undying love for nature, travel and trees. We donated farm animals through Project Heifer and homeschooled, and you watched me paint every room in my little old house fourteen times, and then went on to carry me through the drama of selling it. I wrote here as my heart grew enormous on the promise of adoption, and then let it shatter here, too, as we let go when we had no other choice. There have been people with whom I have lost touch, that have walked me through some of my toughest times and loved me over email and sometimes in phone conversations, just by meeting here, and those are the moments that truly changed me.
In the words of one of my favorite authors, Leo Buscaglia, The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have a potential to turn a life around. It’s overwhelming to consider the continuous opportunities there are to make our love felt.
I have felt that love from so many people here over the years, both in celebratory and difficult times, and that is what I am packing into my backpack this time around, to take with me. You have had a great impact on me, and I thank you for coming along and speaking up in all of the right moments.
Thank you for reading, cheering, loving and growing with me. It was perfect.
Love,
Molly
