What Was I Thinking?

I'm feeling very historic.  Like, there-should-be-a-banner-outside-and-a-brass-band-playing-with-speeches-and-dignitaries historic.  Instead I've got Phineas and Ferb echoing down the stairs and a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have to interrupt what I'm doing to go switch my laundry around.  Party.  All of this begs the question, "What was I thinking?"  Why am I starting a blog now when my kids are past their first cuteness (the one everyone appreciates; teenagers aren't nearly as adorable), and I'm past the point I can share existentially important single-life adventures?  Why now, when the calendar on my iPad is so full that I have to look at it in portrait view instead of landscape so I can see all the things that are demanding my attention and/or attendance?  Why am I taking this on now, while I still have 16 years left on my mortgage, a husband in the doldrums of his career, and a kid in every phase of the public school system?  Let me explain.

First a little background.  I've lived my entire life in a peculiar place with a rich past.  I was the youngest, by FAR, in my family with parents everyone mistook for my grandparents.  I grew up in an area where my mom's family went back for four generations.  A tiny town like that gives a person deep roots; it will always be where I'm from, even though I only make it back once a year.  I did well in school, earned some scholarships, and graduated from college with a BS in English, emphasis on Technical Writing.  For all of you out there who are unfamiliar with that particular term, it's basically an English degree with a focus on formatting, editing, proofreading, etc.  A degree like that will get you into a job writing and editing lots of technical information in a wide variety of fields.  

Where it got me was a job as an administrative assistant, and later, an office manager.  Neither of these were part of my intended career trajectory.  During the three years I was working at my less-than-I-expected jobs, I got married, and I happily turned my back on the workforce to do something that I felt really mattered two years after that -- being a full-time mom.  Now, 17 years and four kids later, I'm the part-time librarian at my kids' elementary school, and I can't have imagined a better career path for myself than the one I've taken.  I got to be home with every one of my kids, seeing their first steps, hearing their first words, then turning them loose into the world myself.  I was the one who fixed lunches, bandaged knees, gave kisses, and made doctor's appointments.  I suffered (accurate description) through potty-training, cleaned up more regurgitated red creme soda than I like to think of, and agonized over every fever. I helped with homework, drove to dance, taught piano lessons, and became the resident bad guy.  Along the way, I've learned some things.

I've learned how to manage my time so that I can keep the house from falling down and cook meals appetizing enough that no one will die.  I've proven to myself that I can't always make everyone happy -- an undeniable fact, but sometimes hard to live with.  I've had to make my own peace with getting older and the fact that all those things I vaguely intended to do someday are not all going to happen.  I've experienced grief and loss, up close as well as from a distance, and have been reminded more than once that time is precious and often unexpectedly limited.  All of this brings me back to my original question.  What was I thinking?

I'm thinking that I miss writing about ideas that are important to me.  I'm thinking that all of the things I've lived in the last 40-odd years might give me some common ground with someone else out there who thinks "what the heck?"  as often as I do.  I'm thinking that I would like a platform to speak my mind when I've got something to say, even if I'm the only one who reads it.  I'm thinking that something I can contribute might make a difference to someone out there in Internet Land who is looking for some advice from someone who has survivied the craziness.  I'm also thinking that being afraid no one will care about or listen to my voice is not a good enough reason not to let it be heard.  All of that being said, this is what I've got so far...