Off the Fence

It was the summer of 2010 when I first began writing like this–in a public space. I use the word “public” loosely. Do a few close friends and family count as public? Either way, it was the first time I wrote outside of the bound pages of my journal–outloud–for anyone to see. I remember that first day well. The kids (only 2 of them at the time) were away on a weekend getaway with my in-laws and Chad and I had just returned home from a nearby town where we stopped for ice cream. I still don’t know why I chose that day–maybe it was the quiet that filled our childless house. Or maybe it was the sugar rush from the pastel green mint chocolate chip ice cream–a dose of courage coursing through my veins?

Whatever it was, it was that hot July afternoon, with melted drips of ice cream on my leg, that I decided to begin to write–outloud.

I laid claim to my name more than a year prior–Running Chatter–a space that sat untouched while I attempted to grow my confidence and work out my nerves. For years I sat on the sidelines, watching and devouring the written thoughts of friends and strangers alike. On that July day, though, I joined the ranks of many who were putting their thoughts on the Internet. People of all kinds–moms and professionals, wives and singles, travelers and stay-at-homers, creatives and innovators, fathers and makers, students and teachers. We wrote about parenting and marriage. We wrote about the things we thought and the things we saw. We wrote about our dreams for the future, for our families, for our children. We cast vision and caught inspiration. We wrote with passion and humor and meaning and a decent amount of sarcasm.

Those years cracked my world wide open. Day after day, year after year, after little ones were tucked into bed, I raced to the living room chair and sat, legs folded underneath, with a laptop resting on my lap. In those quiet moments, I gathered my thoughts like buried treasures. In a darkened room and with a lit screen, I found meaning in the monotony of our days, joy in the little things, purpose in the present. There was nothing pretty or perfect, only jumbled thoughts that somehow became untangled when fingers touched the keyboard.

Taking those quiet moments allowed me to hear echo of a quiet voice that rang from within. 

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Over time, things began to change. Life got busier for that wave of bloggers and many faded. Those that remained wrote books and maintained their loyal following. Those that still blogged were the writers and creators, the business owners and makers. The rise of snapchat and Instagram changed the game, too. Words that used to last forever, now faded in a day. Everything moved so fast and the treadmill was moving at a pace I certainly couldn’t maintain. The scroll, scroll, scroll of the thumb replaced what used to be the slow inhale of words, thoughts and ideas. It felt fast and I couldn’t keep up. These things should certainly be saved for the pros. For the most part, I backed out.

I stopped taking those quiet moments and could no longer hear the echo of the quiet voice from within.

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I am aware of my tendency to scale my neighbors fence to peer at their lush green grass, while never noticing the vibrant yellow roses I trampled to get my view. To assume that it’s better over there, that they have what I don’t, they can do what I can’t. Taking a few quiet moments, however, allows me to climb down from the fence and look at my own yard. To see the flowing grasses, the vibrant flowers, and hey, what’s that under my feet? Look at all the green grass!

I am not making any grand plans to blog five times a week for the next year. I mean, it’s not January 1st, right?  What I’m saying is, perhaps there is more room than I allow myself to see. Maybe there is more freedom than I allow myself to take. To do the things that are most important to us–we find the time, make the time. Even if I’m not one of the pros.

Every day, I lace up my running shoes and pound the pavement, mile after mile. It’s safe to say you will never see me on the starting line of the Olympic marathon. I do it, simply because I love it. Writing is no different. This is a first step, again. No ice cream was involved and three kids are under our roof. Today, I’ve jumped down from my neighbors fence simply to notice what is right in front of me. To lay claim to what is important.

These quiet moments are important to hear the echo of the voice that is within.