That would be a great blog ...

I almost did not blog about this because of that very comment from a fabulous, brilliant, and talented fellow blogger. And I had to think about what it was that was bothering me ... and here it is. Much intense thought, and talk with other bloggers and friends was spent on whether or not I was going to start a blog. I remember sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for my bath to fill and trying to figure out for myself why I felt pulled to blog and what I was afraid of.
It came down to this. I had started writing group email updates to my friends while I was away traveling ... just sharing all the amazing things that I was seeing, experiencing and feeling. And ... well it made me feel like I was not so alone. It allowed me to share me, pieces of me that you most likely would not hear normally because I have a tendency to dominate conversation with questions. Mostly because I really do thrive off of knowing people, their hearts and dreams, fears and joys ... but I also think that part of it is a feeling that I have always had that ... hmmm I don't know, I have never really verbalized this before. I guess it is a feeling that what I have to say is not really important. I lied ... I think there is a third piece ... I am a counsellor, innately and by profession. When you are used to playing that role it can be very difficult to switch over from the listener to the talker. And it seems that once you have established roles in a relationship it can be very hard to change. So I find that I do a lot of listening. And unless you are like me and ask the direct questions I likely don't volunteer much up. Something that I am trying to work on after learning through .... well through living through hell that it is so important to share and let your friends share your burden. Man alive have I gone off track ... he he he. So it felt good to be able to share my heart without feeling like I had spoken for too long, or said something un-interesting. There is a great freedom in writing because the reader has choice. At least there was great freedom in it for me. When I returned I continued to write emails about beautiful and painful stories that my heart had. Like my blog band says ... my heart had to share and I felt like my life needed a witness. It made the pain of loosing the person I shared everything with ease. It was another step towards healing, another way I had discovered strength inside of me, another way that I had found to cope. And the more I shared, the more I grew to love it.
But I was afraid that blogging would change my stories, that I would keep things back and begin to write for an audience instead of really just putting my heart on paper. I was worried that it would make my writing less real.
And when my friend made that comment it made me uncomfortable because it made me remember my fears about starting a blog. I don't really know how to explain why. But something I have tried to be conscious of in my blogging is to not write for anyone but to simply try and share what I think and what I feel. And although I hope that it is entertaining enough to keep you awake, and because you really need to laugh where you can at my life or you might just get right depressed at times (come on separation, divorce, radiation, and mania) it is so much more than that to me. And if were ever to become just about the silly things that happen to me I would hope I would know to let go of it. But I have looked at my heart and I have looked back at my blog and the heart is reflected. It is out there in all its brilliance, with all its bruises and scars, all its joys, and all its pieces. And so when I share little stories like the one that is indeed a great blog ... I know that it is because my heart found joy, or love, or peace, or sorrow, or pain, or any part of the collage of emotions that is my little heart in a piece of my day and that it needed to be shared, to be remembered, to be given the air time.
And so here it is. Queenita had a bag of Halloween hubba bubba which soon turned into the two of us shoving wads of chewable goodness into our smiling little mouths and mixing the yellow and black into slimy goodness the color of slimer from the Ghost Busters. And the games began ... the bubbles did grow, and pop, and cover faces, and nearly suffocate, and most importantly cause many heart tickling bellows of laughter. And like she is in so many areas of life the Queen quickly established herself as the Queen of bubble blowing which caused me distress and built inside me a desire to bubble bigger than her. And I was determined ... until ... my efforts went astray and my bubba bobbled out of my mouth and onto perhaps the most disgusting portion of pavement in all of Calgary. I have to be honest and confess that I almost sacrificed my well being as I tried so hard to catch my slimy colored bubble ... but to no avail ... and there it lay ... a bubble that never got to fulfil its destiny ... fully intact and not deflating. The saddest part of all is that I actually wanted to retrieve it. But I walked away, glancing back at the glowing green potential lost and the Queen remained the Queen she is. And boy did we laugh, and boy did that feel good. And boy did this become a long blog : )