This post has been weeks in the writing – written, deleted, pondered, re-written, stared at, ignored and left to sit in forlorn solitude.

Why?

What is the importance of a single blog post written by an obscure blogger sitting in a manufactured home in the middle of nowhere?

I have no answer to those questions or many other questions that I find myself asking lately.

I did find this quote by Flannery O’Connor:

“I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”

Maybe that’s the answer.

Or maybe not…

Maybe the answer doesn’t matter.

I’m kind of liking this quote by Joan Didion:

“We tell stories in order to live.”

Maybe I should just quit worrying about the why.

My life feels hard right now.

It would be more truthful to say that my life has always been hard and I have decided to admit it and do something about it.

A little over a month ago I hit the end.

I no longer had the ability to go on.

I was done.

And somehow the end turned into a beginning.

I asked for help.

It has not been fun.

Quite frankly, it has been a shit show.

I have failed spectacularly over and over again.

I’m still not sure that there is any importance in a single blog post written by an obscure blogger sitting in a manufactured home in the middle of nowhere but I’m trying to figure that out.

And I’m told that the journey over the past month has been the easy part. Now the real work begins.

That is terrifying.

I’m going to keep going anyway.

“Owning our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.” -Brene Brown

A little over a month ago, I hit what I’m choosing to call the end.