The summer is more than half over now, but instead of letting the looming end depress me, I’m feeling a sense of pride this time. This summer has been my summer. Nothing particularly big has happened. On the surface, my life looks nearly the same as it did in the spring, but something is different, something unseen, in me. Life suddenly feels deeper, wider, and more real. I’ve changed. I continue to change into myself.
I’ve been reading again. It’s been my goal for a while to read more from Kazuo Ishiguro, so I picked up Klara and the Sun. I made time to delve into Octavia Butler’s amazing work by starting with Parable of the Sower and its sequel Parable of the Talents. Most recently, I finished Pageboy by Elliot Page, which has opened me up in ways I imagine will take several posts to get through. Before the summer is over, I’m determined to read Spare from Prince Harry and finally find my way through Yan Lianke’s The Explosion Chronicles.
I started working out intensely. For years I’ve wanted to simply “get healthier”. I managed in half starts and half-assed attempts because it’s hard, but for reasons having less to do with health anymore and more and more every day to do with gender expression it’s become a goal to find a body I can feel more comfortable in. I’m grateful to have friends who, for entirely different reasons, are on the same path to push me in the most loving and hilarious ways.
My online life is being restructured. Blogging has come in starts and stops over the last few years but as I resettle into myself and reacquaint myself with my passions and possibilities, I find myself wanting to begin again. I’d hoped to turn this place into a sort of commonplace book with my own words mixed with words from others that have inspired me. Turns out I hate that. So, with the slow and agonizing death of Twitter and my reluctance to learn a new platform—it’s back to Tumblr I go.
In addition, I’m falling in love with the platform Are.na. Most of what I post there ends up on Tumblr and vice versa, but Are.na allows me room to think, to connect, and to explore in more methodical ways. It’s where I would like my ideas to begin, to germinate, and to grow before I bring them here.
Writing-wise things are going…okay. Near the end of 2022, I was offered a chance to write for the We’re Not Really Strangers community. I worked on both the expanded Self Love game, helped develop the Anxiety edition, and submitted questions, reminders, and threads for their social media platforms. It’s been as much fun as it has been stressful, with moments of exhilarating pride and cutting self-doubt.
Recently though my work with them has reduced, which, even though I’m sad about it, might just the blessing I need. Writing for someone else made me realize (remember) how much I want to write for myself, in my own voice. I want to break the rules. I want to be wordy and confrontational. I want to write from where I am, where I have been, from what hurt me. I want to say things that might make people want to turn away.
Personally, I am so happy it scares me. My marriage is as solid as ever. My friendships are deepening. My identity is a place I finally feel safe to explore fully. My day job continues to fulfill me and I have the best team of coworkers anyone could ask for. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For some great pain to come and tear my life and my heart apart. Life always swings back. The universe corrects. Still, and so, I am taking in all the love I can get and finding new ways to give it now that I am surrounded by so many people who will allow me to.
That doesn’t mean I don’t have problems. That doesn’t me I don’t have a long way to grow still. Some things I’m working on now are: setting boundaries, making time to do things that are just for me, and continuing to cope with what I now know is anxiety, ADHD, and quite possibly CPTSD. How I’ve managed to keep my ulcerative colitis from flaring again is a miracle I can’t explain and how I’ve coped through family crisis after family crisis is a testament to the chaos I’ve learned to live with and the strength it took me to do so.
This post went on longer than I wanted it to as they tend to when I attempt to return. I want to end here bybeing honest, with myself most of all. No promises are being made here. No expectations are being set, only intentions, only expressions.
I want to write again, but I admit I don’t always know how I can. Turning these ideas, fragments, mere sparks into posts is a task I have not mastered yet. What I give myself here is permission. I am allowed to write anything I want, in whatever form, for whatever length, and as often and as not as feels right for me. It only has to be mine.
Lisa Marie Blair 