In Tuttle last week, I realised something.

It feels like the last ten years have flown by and I haven’t done anything.

I’ve done lots of things that were important to do, but compared with the five years before that, none of it feels very significant. And I’ve lost the habit of talking about it out loud. It gets stuck inside me and then I have to do some other activity that lets it out.

If I want to know what I was doing at some point in say 2009, I can look to the archives of this blog to give me some sort of anchor point. There are ways of doing the same with, like, 2016, but it’s nowhere near as reliable.

I do need to perform, in some way. My work at church can’t provide that at the moment. And in the middle of a pandemic, there isn’t much that can, but I can have a go here. That’s what this is, just putting words down, one after another. Writing and then deleting whole paragraphs that express the thing in a different way. Groping towards understanding and some sense of meaning. Getting the muscle memory back of taking the thoughts that for a while have been swimming around and then suppressed and actually doing something else with them. Without shame or fear of comment.

Or I could go and pick some more fruit in Animal Crossing.