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I have stop-started writing a blog for a very long time now. I have gotten stuck in exactly the same place with each attempt: a title and a first post. When I used to keep handwritten journals I always intentionally left the first page blank. The first page locks you in. Second page, no problem, but the first: pressure. I suppose this reveals I have some perfectionist tendencies that aren't entirely fruit-bearing. I tend to feel that in a life as full as ours, there is no time to be spent on excessive failure. Failures affect everyone, failures often cost money, failures invite critics. I did get smart for a stretch and tried not starting anything at all, but I failed at that too. The other possible approach I've recently come up with is a bit more involved. It goes like this: start something, let it be uncomfortable and not exactly the way it was pictured in the mind, set forth anyways, push through failure, upward, onward, arrive. Apply that to a blog, for example. This is the first paragraph and I am already at step "uncomfortable", approaching "set forth anyway", bracing to push through "failure". In what exactly, I am not even sure. I have stories that spin around my mind all day long. I suppose it comes part and parcel with a mostly solitary life, where the majority of one's companions have four legs, wings and/or are under three feet tall. Stifled banter has the real potential of making oneself positively nutty. So perhaps my purpose for this blog is really just to make you all nutty instead.

The other piece that has stood in my way of sharing these apparently important thoughts with you is that I have no idea what the seemingly necessary theme is. I have no desire to write a "homestead" or "food" blog, there are enough of those out there. Even my eyes glaze over when I try to read them. I am not a "mommy blogger" and I have nothing to sell you. Well, that's not exactly true. I would love for you to buy stuff from us, but the intent of this blog isn't to market. I have no brand, I want no brand. I don't presume that what I have to offer will help someone. I am not an influencer and never will be. A personal soapbox is appealing, although I'm the type of folk who's opinions are constantly evolving. What's true today will almost certainly be challenged and changed tomorrow. So then what exactly is the point of publicly discoursing about my life? Truth be told, I really love stories. I love reading about (listening to) the details of ordinary people's lives. Ordinary people that do amazing things but also the ones who don't do very many things at all. The ones that face adversity and don't back down. The ones that fail miserably. And the very truth of the matter is that every human alive is a very ordinary person doing an incredibly crazy thing. We are here on planet earth. We have no idea where we came from and no idea where we are headed. We float for a period of time in this existence and that is so wild and worthy of  recording and sharing and possibly even celebrating in all possible ways. Writing is something that has generally come easy to me and so I suppose it is my most accessible way to preserve at least one side of our collective story, along with that of this land we steward and this spot we call home. It is a rather good one, if I do say so myself.

Over the last couple years I have massively compartmentalized my life. If you are reading this you know me at least to some degree. But depending on how you know me, be it by association, in real life for a long time or a short time, on Facebook or on Instagram, you know entirely different aspects of me. When we moved here (2 years ago now), I suddenly felt quite terrified to be so publicly vulnerable and I really let that feeling take hold. At a certain point I decided that sharing on Instagram felt safer and I have since reserved my deeper, more personal stories for that space. So now I have this weird thing where I interact with people and I don't have a clue what about me they "know". Did I tell them about XYZ in person, do they read my Instagram posts, do they only see what's on Facebook, do they actually know nothing about me at all? It feels like having multiple personas. In reality, in being so selective I probably share exactly not enough with anyone at all, such that I just look like an entirely crazy person to everyone. Which is true to some degree but not all ;) So I have a new goal of extending my vulnerabilities by sharing equally with all people, and this blog feels like a good and frightful place to do so.

Finally people, I swear. Alot. This likely prevents me from talking in social situations more then any other barrier, because I just don't know what to say without some solid exclamations and I am so afraid to offend you. Gosh, why do we do this to ourselves. So let me conclude this intimidating first entry by saying fuck it and hitting "publish" anyways. I hope my stories are somewhat amusing, enough to keep you reading and commenting and FINGERS CROSSED I will do my very best to not delete this blog before days end ;)