Forty One

Michigan’s Mackinac Bridge, from the Shepler Ferry

I’m not sure what this is, other than a navel-gazing exercise in mid-life birthday angst. I don’t want it to be. I’ve had a growing urge to write. The problem is, I don’t know what to write. The obvious solution is to write anyway. I’m not sure I can count the number of times I’ve opened Medium, intending to write, or wrote something and deleted it, in some sort of “I can’t post my first article until it’s perfect” paralysis.

So, since birthdays are better for resolutions that January 1, as long as they’re followed, that is, I resolve two things.

  1. I resolve to write every day. Oh, not here. I won’t subject everyone to drivel until I’ve actually crafted something. But I’ll journal, daily, and start to work toward putting words together in some sort of logical order.
  2. I fail at this one so much. Photograph. Daily. If I don’t pick up my camera every day, I don’t pick it up. That needs to stop. Photography feeds my heart, and my heart needs feeding.

So that’s it for today. Write, and photograph. Happy birthday to me.

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