So THAT’S how it is in their family.

[Acknowledging Eli screaming from the balcony in Anthro dress + vintage squash blossom necklace + Elizabeth and James heels.]

Thanksgiving; a mind-blowing masterpiece. I’m not someone who takes having family around/copious amounts of eating for granted, but this was one holiday done right: martinis, cosmos, bar mix, thin-sliced Virginia ham with cranberry sauce, gravy, infant boys in tiny blue blazers, and the womb-like atmosphere of the Commonwealth Club that makes a girl cut her bites extra small. So that’s how it is in their family.*

I had something poignant I wanted to say about hiatuses and the importance of finding your center, but all I could think about was this site I just found (thanks, Carrie) called “Get Off My Internets.” If we’re being totally honest, which I guess is considered best practice, I’ve seen it before; I’ve only recently spent any decent amount of time there poking around.

After a glimmery tickle of anxiety whispered in my pits [no way I’d be on their radar, but sweet Christ, what if?], the remaining reactions I had were those of benign agreement. I mean, you can’t expect not to compare yourself or register any awareness of those big-time bloggers when you happen to start your blog at the same time as everyone else and their sister. And ours didn’t even have photos in the beginning. You can’t help but flare a ‘stril at the self-promotion I personally don’t have the nerve for.

But I’m also not dumb. And happen to be in the business of making websites, and helping them get traffic. Conflict of interest, once upon a time.

[Thanksgiving happened. Facebook, again, offers proof.]

What I’m getting at is: I had to step back to remember why I enjoyed this in the first place. And it isn’t hits or sponsorships or any of the things I was honestly too lazy to pursue with any zest in the first place.

It’s to talk to you. When I have something that I feel like saying.

I was walking with a friend in a park at dusk, and it was getting cold. The things I’d planned to show off—spirit houses, creeks, and fountains—were being shy and hiding in navy shadows. Like bears who don’t come out of habitats when you have handfuls of cranberries, but you’re sure are out the moment you’re not present.

I felt compelled to make promises for its beauty in the growing darkness.

“So, what are your dreams, then?” I asked, surprising myself, like a firework lit by accident. “If you could work to live, not live to work. What are your dreams?”

I was met with a nervous laugh.

“Raise foxes? Tend to a Japanese garden? Seek out natural springs in the hillside? Master 8 traditional Turkish dishes?” I offered. Attempts at jokes coming from places of actual want.

“Well, those all sound pretty good, actually—(pause)—No, I’ll tell you what I want. I think the coolest thing? It’s to come up with the wildest, biggest, craziest dream you can, and,” I cut in. “…And then, go after it?”

“With all your heart,” he replied.

Maybe all I want is to write things that touch people. Probably wildly vain.

I haven’t figured out how that works yet, but I’m thankful for people who remind me it’s what I love. And that means you, Erin—who popped up in front of my register on Black Friday and gave me a reason to smile when she said she loved the blog! The best I could do was shake her hand—ah, hindsight.

p.s. Erin, what shampoo do you use? You have magnificent locks.

What hiatus!?

-Carey

*Per Ferris.