Some say you begin with the beginning – but I have my doubts. When we look at the way our lives are patterned, one moment woven into the next, we quickly realize that there is no such thing as a brand new start. Almost everything is born from a moment that has gone before. A multitude of golden threads loop through our decisions and experiences even when we don’t pay particular attention to them.

Starting a blog is one of those gently worn beginnings. I wrote a blog from 2010 to 2016, which revolved around studying abroad and traveling. When we bought a house and renovations began, the great nomadic pastime was suspended for the sake of the homestead, and along with it my travel blog. 

So why start another one, and why now?

Well, for one thing, I can. Nice, eh? It is amazing to realize that when you want to do something because it sparks joy in your heart, you have permission to take time out of your schedule and dedicate it to that particular purpose. (Pro Tip: Allow yourself the fulfillment of small dreams. You are old enough to pave some of your own way now, hooray.) Personally, as someone who has nightmarish time management skills, I attest that “taking time” can be a challenge. But the more time and space is portioned into daily or weekly tasks, the better for me. 

Writing a blog is an exercise of faith, where you sheepishly offer something to the void and then wait to see what might lurch out of it to grab a comma or an idea. I’ve seen community blossoming around the work of artists and writers (online and off), which is quite heartrending to see. We can do wonderful things now to connect people, even when we are miles or oceans apart: offer almost instant dialog between people who puzzle and wonder over the same things, love the same music or artwork, or just enjoy a good, lively debate. Online therapy is helping so many people today, as are podcasts, films and documentaries. I am not a champion for the advantages of modern tech, but this is where I must concede the point. People with good intentions are doing good things on the net and off. Maybe I can contribute a little something by joining their ranks.

Back when I stopped traveling, and then stopped writing, I felt like I stopped growing. Many people don’t need as much stimulation to get a sense of who they are, but as someone who has always lived from the outside in, I felt stopped in my tracks when I decided to stay in my hometown to teach and eventually become a parent. 

Parenting young children left me with a deep sense of being apart from others; location and isolation manifested this feeling, the pandemic didn’t help, my friends either did not have children or were too busy with their own or not even allowed to visit (goodnight forever please, corona curfew!). I felt like I couldn’t speak on any topic of interest, mainly because my sources of information and connection had dried up. My fierce embrace of globetrotting was now tied up in trotting after three-year-olds who were not beyond seeking the cheap thrills of running in front of cars or throwing themselves off the furniture headfirst. I was happy and bursting with love, yet I often cried at night. Being a young parent without a functioning social network left me uprooted and stunted, and for a terrifying year or five I thought I might never recover my sense of self: I had no original thought for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, if I’m honest with you. I was sleep-deprived and ill-informed and I was suddenly confronted with my unhealed, broken places when I became a parent. Who knew motherhood would bring out the unspoken, desperate parts of me? 

Well, you might say, I knew that. In which case – why didn’t you tell me so?! And that question is on my mind a lot, not just concerning parenthood, or womanhood, or … knighthood! I know that we know. We all know! We all know different bits. So if we combined those different bits of knowledge, just imagine how we could uplift each other in meaningful and healing ways. We could build communities and families that lifted each other up. Our sense of overwhelm and isolation in a vast ocean of unending responsibility and permanently threatening disorder could subside for the sake of togetherness and fellowship. A lot of the shame and guilt that comes with parenting (or simply breathing) in a society so fragmented could be lifted off our shoulders, because we could simply ask one another, we could give each other permission to mourn what is lost and cherish what is won. We could pray over one another when the burden gets too heavy. If only someone started the conversation and offered their slice of nice, someone else might be encouraged to follow. We’d learn and grow and go from strength to strength, just like PB&J, or even like {insert superfood of your choice}.

I want to see single moms moving in together to help each other out, friends cooking together so as to alleviate loneliness, the old to bless the young with wisdom, the young to bless the old with hope and openness, the overworked given permission to ask for help, and the helpless given time to learn tasks… Let there be room for silliness and pause, for roaring like lions and meowing like kittens, laughing during the day time, pillow forts and treasure hunts, story time and worship. We could even bring the kids. And what about learning the kazoo? 

We could grow resilient, faithful children that knew where they belonged and what they are worth because we ourselves would know; we could grow tomatoes and radishes and lettuce in our gardens and on our balconies, we could grow our hearts bigger and fill them with God and peace and laughter, reach out our fingertips and touch the membrane of each other’s lives, share a smile, soak in the holy blessing of loving conversation and shared silence. We could pop our bubble and make room for others, hum tunes, do the dishes, cite movies, break bread together, and eventually install a longer table and squeeze together so that everyone can take part. I want to see people transformed by the gift of community because I want to be transformed by it. (I was yelling this last sentence, not sure if you could hear.) Writing is a solitary effort, but when we share stories and information and heroic tales and little prayers, seeds are planted that change our hearts and imagination.

It is no accident that in Ireland and other places where the oral tradition is still alive and well to this day, bards were revered like kings. They held the golden threads – of history, pathos, legend, faith, law, religion, tradition and genealogy – and wove them into a rich tapestry from which to draw inspiration and warning. Fighting words are still used in chambers of congress and badly lit alleyways to the same effect today, kindergarteners and elite students sing songs to reconnect with the drum of their heartbeat, grandmothers in nursing homes and grieving mothers bend over the same psalms to find balm for their hurting souls – words matter. 

Good words, more specifically. Good words spark movements, nourish us and propel us out of our comfort zone. They challenge us to change that which we can for the better. Truthfully, changing on your own is thankless, difficult work. Who wants to go on a quest alone? Who wants their redemption arch to play out in an empty theater? We all need Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Samwise, son of Hamfast “Gaffer” Gamgee, and other elite allies to keep our story moving along – otherwise it’s just a bunch of Pippins elbowing one another for the best spot, starting accidental battles and crying resentful tears for Elevenses’ tea. We have potential, but we are not exactly Thain of the Shire just yet, are we now?

So where do we begin? I guess anywhere we like. Pull on a thread from our own tapestry and see what marvels unravel. I think I am going to start in the middle. Drop some words on a sheet of paper and see what comes of it.

Tea might not be the worst idea.