Some silly little figure skater was on the Today Show twirling around the Rockefeller Center ice rink to Beyonce's I Was Here, and I excused myself from pinterest activities and family coffee time to escape to the shower to cry.
Why was I crying--again--you ask?
Because I've been fretting over my final blog post for the last week, and it all finally hit me that tomorrow is it.
When you sit down in the same chair (this one here)
for 364 evenings, save the ones where I was elsewhere in the world, and you ponder not only how you fulfilled your intention for the day, but what about the day would be even remotely interesting to the hundred or so people who tune in each evening, well, if it takes thirty days to break a habit, it's going to be February before I shake the emptiness of my evenings.
And it all made me cry.
My intention was personal.
And it became so much more.
I want to say I lived each day, until I dieAnd know that I meant something in, somebody's lifeThe hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leaveThat I made a difference, and this world will seeI was hereI lived, I lovedI was hereI did, I've done, everything that I wantedAnd it was more that I thought it would be
Well, my evenings won't be empty--in this crazy household, they never could be! But come Sunday, I won't ever again plop in my chair and say, "Oh shoot, I gotta blog." In about two and a half months, there will be two pint-sized people to occupy my lap in place of my outdated MacBook. And memories will suddenly be savored for the sake of savoring--for my own eyes, and my own heart--and not shared every.single.time.
I'm at peace with the fact that the nightly therapy this blog has become will in fact end tomorrow. For those of you as sad as I am, fret not: I'm relaunching something new in 2012. :o)
Tomorrow's post will conclude the year, with the most amazing of intentions.
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