A Sorta Blog Break Up (Or I Say a Whole Lot and Conclude Nothing)

You know how some relationships end through attrition? Both parties just seem to fade away without explanation and you find yourself wondering years later where it all went? Wondering who stopped calling whom? I’ve had those endings.

I’ve also had other relationships erupt in an explosive end — with a fight that uncovers all the anger both parties have bottled up over years. I’ve had still others end with one fight over one small thing that illuminates the myriad ways you’ve been growing apart for years.

Endings can be sad. They can also be a relief. Some are permanent. Some aren’t. We might even think we know which category an ending is and then life surprises us. People surprise us.

I need to be honest with you. I’m not doing my part here by writing so you’re probably not doing yours by reading. We’ve probably drifted apart through mutual attrition, and it probably started when my tone shifted and my schedule became erratic — or when your life changed. I don’t really know.

I’ve been so conflicted about whether to definitively retire Dogs, Dishes, and Decor that I have done nothing. I’ve started a bunch of posts I haven’t published. I’ve also written countless others in my head on hikes that I never committed to paper because I didn’t see the point. I’ve made a million art projects and I haven’t wanted to write about any of them.

In all, I think maybe my heart has wandered away.

I’m so grateful to my readers for all of the support and love over the years since I started this blog. It was the place my soul came to reawaken. The place where my creativity came back to life. It was also the place I came to express my pain when life knocked me down.

As I find myself approaching another birthday, I look back on where I’ve been, where I am at the moment, and where I’m going. I’m filled with a sense of hope, wonder, and awe.

I don’t know if this post is goodbye forever, and I don’t want to simply walk away with so many things unsaid — with so many pictures unposted.

Goodbye forever feels so absolute. It feels so permanent and irreversible — like death. But “I might post again” is so non committal that it seems almost unfair. That feels like every relationship I had in my 20’s and early 30’s — every relationship where I only gave my heart halfway and wondered why love hurt so much. I’ve spent a lot of time wrestling with myself over the reasons why.

Did I hold back my heart because I knew in my soul it wasn’t safe to give it away? Or did I hold back because I was too afraid to find out? The answer is different in each case — and it’s not always completely clear even in the rearview mirror of so much self reflection.

Whether I never really gave my heart because I wasn’t ready or because my soul held me back for a reason is a question whose answer eludes me somewhat. I think maybe it’s possible I’m looking at it all wrong and there really is no difference between the two. I’m not entirely sure, and maybe I never have to be. Maybe it’s because it’s just what is and that’s enough.

While the answer is a blurry mess when it comes to love, I’m not sure it’s any clearer when it comes to my blog. Am I holding back my heart from these posts because my heart has moved on? Or because I know this is not what my soul wants to say?

I don’t care about the illusion of perfection anymore. I don’t really want to write a single “how-to” post ever again. I don’t want to feel my creativity fettered by the obligation to post pretty pictures of my projects with cute captions — yet sometimes I want to share the joy I feel when I make something for someone I love.

Like these things:

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So, today I can’t really say where I am with this blog. I’m not quite ready to let it go, but I’m not quite ready to commit to it either.

Since I can’t give you certainty, I’ll just leave you with this. It’s the mess of a quilt I’m making without any pattern — without any plan — without any absolutes. I’m just throwing it together as I go with some vague idea that in the end it will be something people I care about can sit on at a picnic.

If that isn’t some sort of metaphor for life I don’t know what is.

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