For the last 3 days I've been turning something over and over in my head. I am SO ready to write, but just can't seem to settle on a new blog title. I have a million and one *ideas* but none of them translate to a blog title that makes me proud. I don't think it's my perfectionist tendencies coming out...rather, I think it's that I am trying to pigeon hole what I have to say into a tiny category in order to give it a name. I didn't realize that until Jeff essentially stated it for me.
I'm frustrated, because I feel like unless I'm writing I'm not really living. I wasn't sure how to put it into words until just now...but that's it. Unless I'm writing, I feel like I'm not really living.
For me, living is awesome...full experiences peppered with emotions...people...places...things...but until I write about it, it's like a beautiful sketch without the paint. For me, writing is what gives my cherished experiences their color. Then they stay in my mind, blazing with vibrancy and hue for years to come.
There are still people who read The Cat Widow. There are people who, even now, become newly widowed and find it through the internet, reading through every post as though I still write daily. It will always have a place. It will always have a purpose.
I'm ready, though, to leave it all behind...to keep it published on the web as a chapter of my life I went through...as a chapter of my life to which I had to give voice...but to end it and instead transition to a new chapter and a new blog.