I feel guilty beyond words for not regularly sharing my experiences with you. Although I must admit that experiences of an anecdotal variety have been few and far in between since moving to Northern Iraq.
To be honest, I have been in a more contemplative and reflective mood; making sense of all that has happened to me since I left home four years before and perhaps even before.
I have had the blessing of 'me' time to think and to process since leaving home and for that I am truly grateful. The epiphanies that it has brought me have been invaluable and have ultimately shaped the person that I have become in the last four years.
And I don't know about you, but if I can't make sense of 'it', people, places, experiences, then I can't get out of it whatever was meant to be gotten. If that makes sense at all.
And make sense of it all, I certainly have over the last four years. My life, my entire life with all its tragedies, mundanities and triumphs, is now finally beginning to be understood by the person living it.
When I first started
My intentions for this blog were simple: share my experiences and with an unashamed vulnerability. Those are still my goals and preference.
So, did I stop experiencing shit? Is that the reason for the sporadic posts?
Experiences are a dime a dozen day...well, maybe not that often.
But I do find myself reflecting more on my past with a need to help me understand how the past has impacted me today.
My father's passing and life is still being processed and not quite fully understood.
With that said, I can't continue to bullshit you any longer.
The process of processing these past events and life moments has brought to the fore some pretty intense emotions, which I am too shy to share with the world. I am working on it and as a result I have toyed with the idea of making my blog private.
What do you think? Is it a good idea?
Or should I just spill my guts?
It is my father who has inspired in me this need to share my private thoughts and feelings.
Truth is, I stopped knowing him after the age of 11.
I never knew him as an adult and more importantly, any morsel that I did come to learn about him, did not come from his own voice or words.
That is scary.
The good, the bad and the ugly about your life not being known by the very people in your life that should know.
I don't want that to be my fate at all.
If there is a story to tell, I want it to be authored by me.