3, A Magic Number

On the anniversary of my first blog post, an unbelievable 3 years ago, I can’t believe how far we’ve come.

From our flat, with an infant child, desperately (so it seemed) trying to get back on top of our world, plans and dreams, simultaneously trying to make sense of possibly the world’s most complicated, convoluted company was the oddest, craziest trip. It felt like riding an out of control juggernaut. A kind of Emperor’s New Clothes situation, seeing things as they were and trying to find the courage to be and do what I knew was right. It was terrifying yet the making of me, thanks to the gorgeous people I was thrown into the mix with and the people I already had by my side.

Because of them, because of it, we are who and where we are now and we’ve made the dreams we had back then, that seemed further away than ever, come true.

In the midst of all of this institutional lunacy, and my own temporary loss of sanity, I had an infant I was trying to help learn to love books. An old work contact made a comment that I really SHOULD actually blog instead of talking about it. It became a place where I could start to make sense of the things that mattered to me in my life at the time. It was the beginning of starting to sort my feelings and make sound decisions. It also made me focus on my own reading, as well as that done with my daughter, which gave me some space and peace and sanctuary.

That situation and this blog gave me so much. Sometimes you have to just have to let go. Reading and writing helped me let go long enough to rest, so that I could get back on, on my own terms.


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