When I wrote that last post in July, I didn't intend for that to be my final blog of the year, nor of my writing career. However unintentional, it was at least true of the former.
There is no big story, drama, issue, major problem, or otherwise specific explanation behind my accidental hiatus. I simply discovered that it took a lot longer to really move in even long after every box was unpacked.
It turns out moving is a lot more of a time-consuming process than I originally allotted for. It takes time to find your way--both literally and figuratively--and when you multiply that by four children, one husband and a dog, well, it's not exactly speedy.
But not in a negative way by any means. I love this new place, and have enjoyed the last six months really living it rather than worrying about writing about it later. We've traveled, met new friends and reconnected with some old. We've gotten to know some neighbors and alienate others. We've started new schools, got a driver's license and another concussion. We've seen another ear surgery for Amy, stalked some more country music stars and watched a whole lot of hockey.
And a funny thing happened.
Instead of worrying about if, how, where and how much to write about those moment, I simply lived them without any further thought on recording them.
And that was pretty liberating.
In September, I officially gave up my writing gigs. I think some were surprised by the decision, but it was the right one at the right time. I loved my jobs, but they belonged to a different writer--a different person than the one who types this sitting at her kitchen counter in Nashville, Tennessee before leaving for a hockey game with six or seven kids in tow.
I'm not exactly who she is yet, but I know I'm going to enjoy getting to know her better in 2012.
I hope you will, too.