Setting Sail Again

Hello readers. Welcome again.

Welcome to my site that I created almost exactly two years ago. I poured weeks of effort into creating this space to express my work: designing, writing, and photography - and even a custom logo. I read books on making money through blogging, and my heart and soul were singing with the possibilities of making this my career. I was set to plunge into projects that involved traveling around Maine, interviewing Maine people and making new connections. Then I received some big news a few days later.

First, I had a huge blow to my paycheck when the restaurant I worked at restructured their policies and made it so I was making a significantly less amount, and then, secondly, that evening, I took a test that revealed that I was pregnant.

Everything went on hold. Jake and I needed to find a place to live. I needed a new job that would support us immediately. It was a very stressful time. I focused on what I had to do to make sure my baby made a safe delivery and that we could nest in a home that I knew would be the best possible space we could find for our family.

We did. Zeke is almost 16 months old now, and we found a wonderful house to call home in Bath. I still am bartending and waiting tables part time, and the new-mother fog is slowly lifting as my son toddles confidently around our old floorboards. Jake is slowly adding improvements to make our space better and better - one of those spaces being my new home office. I sat down and opened my laptop today and winced at this website, still there on the bookmark bar of my search engine.

There are so many things that are different about the woman two years ago who was ready to dive into a blog writing career, and there are so many things that are still the same. We hired a babysitter on Monday night to watch Zeke so I could go to an event in Portland that showed three short films related to island living in Maine. By the third film, I was weeping. I hadn’t forgotten my passion for Maine history and stories, for people’s stories and THEIR passion for Maine living and how important it is to share it with others, but I had tucked it away.

I bought a movie poster for the last film, “When We Were An Island,” and asked the director and the writer for an autograph, feeling a bit silly.

I chatted with the director who asked if I did any creative film work. I told him I was a writer, and then blushed when he asked if I had any writing to share. “I’m a mother.” I explained shamefully. “So nothing recent. This is the first time we’ve hired a babysitter so we could have a night out in Portland. We came here on a bit of a whim.” He told me he was honored and I laughed. I told him that his passion for Maine islands and the film he created inspired me to write more, and he said he hoped it would. We talked at length about the particular islands and Maine authors we loved, and agreed to stay in touch online if I wanted to send him my work. I wanted to get to work immediately.

I picked up an old book my godmother, Leila Percy, had lent me, called “Writing Down the Bones.” It’s one that I used to commonly reference when I was writing fiction in college. There’s a chapter called “Composting” which really affected me last night while I was getting comfortable in my new creative office space. The author, Natalie Goldberg, writes:

“Our senses by themselves are dumb. They take in experience, but they need the richness of sifting for a while through our consciousness and through our whole bodies. I call this, “composting.” Our bodies are garbage heaps: we collect experience, and through the decomposition of the thrown-out eggshells, spinach leaves, coffee grinds, and old steak bones of our minds come nitrogen, heat, and very fertile soil. Out of this fertile soil bloom our poems and stories.” (14).

So, in my mind, I’ve simply been composting a very rich soil for myself.

In conclusion, being a mother has taught me many things. One of the biggest lessons being that, it’s ok to not be perfect. For so long, this website has had only one blog post because I’ve been scared. I feared that the knowledge I had procured from my English degree had rusted away, and my words will stand naked and unpolished and vulnerable here on the screen. But I’ve also learned that there is beauty in authenticity and speaking even when your voice feels small. So here I am, readers. Even if there is only one of you, I love you, and I’m ready to create again.