I am wrestling with the word “blog.” Maybe after all these years, I am just tired of it. It’s not the most eloquent word. When you think of what it rhymes with—blob, slog, clod, smog...
When I meet someone new, they naturally ask what I like to do. I enjoy many creative outlets, writing being one of them, so I tell them I have this little blog that I started years ago when I first began writing about life as an expat with four children, moving from country to country and what that was like.
Then I take a deep breath, because that’s a lot.
It has evolved, as have I. My writing continues to be about life, just a different one. I’m now a retired expat, empty nester, grandparent, and active community volunteer living in a rural town in New Hampshire, moving through new chapters of life. Oh yes, I also host Tahilla Gatherings.
Why does it feel like an elevator pitch I can’t get quite right?
Some call a blog a digital journal, but there is nothing warm in that.
And when I go to my site, it feels warm to me.
Let’s try this…
I share stories and photographs about life and the things that move and inspire me. I also host Tahilla Gatherings, intimate creative experiences that bring people together, and write about the people, ideas, and moments that emerge from them.
Still a WIP.
People often ask if I am on Substack. I am, but I feel overwhelmed there. Too many people, too much noise. My site is my quiet space.
Life fills me, completely. As in, I am happily busy. When I come to this space, it’s like the quiet room you reserve at the library for complete and dreamy silence, to let your thoughts flow…
A blog? Still no.
Thinking on it….
