A little shy of six hundred words, about thousand days later - that's not terrible. No.

 

 I think I am going to write. For a while. For a few days. I don’t know how long. I don’t know if I can sustain the thought of it for long. I haven’t written in two years. Probably more. Not even many emails.

It's like, things look different. Those smaller things of life that mattered and made it all beautiful – summer, friends, birthdays, a roll of canoli in a baker’s case, a stranger’s smile, surprises, cappuccino, sunshine, purple leaves in fall, a kiss, a gift box on the table, that one phone call, a baby’s touch, a spoonful of ganache - I don’t know if I can love them the way I used to. I miss those days. The only experience I believe I can honestly write about now is possibly how it feels to live in a world without mom. It’s perhaps going to be a sad blog. Maybe forever. Or maybe until one day, I just decide to become reformed or have the energy to write about the newborn in my life. But I will write. 

 

In every sense, I just need to get myself to one end of that string I’m looking for. The right side. The good side.  Really, what is there to lose?

 

So, the way people resolve to go to gym to get into better shape, I am choosing to use this space to get into better shape – a happier shape. It’ll be like a regimen for a random number of days. Like a few odd days of finding my way through writing again.  Who knows? There is a chance I might dig out something from here – some piece of my soul – lost, yet to be found. In life, there is a least bit of chance for everything.

 

But this is a good start. At least, I am able to write.

 

It should mean something good.

As you become more clear about who you really are, you'll be better able to decide what is best for you - the first time around.  – Oprah Winfrey.

 

 

Day 1.