It’s been about a year since I’ve posted a thing on here. Not that I haven’t had things to write about. Life has taken off in ways: new jobs, new friends, new interests that occupy the passing hours and days and weeks and months. I’ve loved having the opportunity to work with some amazing products (De’Longhi and Kenwood, if anyone needs appliances, let a sister know) and create recipes from scratch to feature some beautiful French cookware. Mark finished school and opened up his private practice: I had a blast collaborating with him on decorating his office.
One thing that has most definitely kept me from writing on the blog I pay for and spent weeks building is something that most of us struggle with. If you say you don’t, you’re lying. And I know there are some of you who have a hard time believing this coming from me, because I seem so confident, but I am plagued by self-doubt. I start to write a post, and stop before even getting logged in. “Why would anyone care about this BS?”, I say to myself. It’s why I stopped playing music. It’s why I have 50,000 half-finished projects that sit in my office. Why I never wrote the hobo musical I’ve had in my brain since I was 22. Why I have an armory of vintage furniture for the shop I’ll never open. Mark summed it up succinctly: “Megan Barone. Great ideas, no follow through.”
Those words are my truth, but not forever. Because time marches on. We grow, we learn. People move away, jobs change, seasons shift. I’m going to do my best to push past the self-doubt evil voice and actually share some of what I have been working on lately. I’m doing it for me. Because I need to change this paradigm of torpor and torment and move on to a more nurturing point of view. Because I want to finish some of these project babies that live in my mind.
With that being said, I thought that since April is National Poetry Month, I might use my blog to share some of the writing I’ve actually been working on of late. It’s a short little poem (unlike the lead-in).
We are encircled by mountains.
Held in the glacially carved embrace
of granite and basalt
named after old explorers
and the mythical haunts of deities.
Beneath silvery snow caps,
lahars lie in wait
to envelop in seconds
what took generations to create
like sleeping beasts that man can never vanquish.