Continuance

Given the chance to go back, knowing all I do now, to tick a box either "writer" or "single-parent" with some knowledge the selected one would in some way make the other not be able to accomplish as much, I know I would choose parent again and again. The only difference would be, knowing what I do now, the grandeur of my aspirations as a writer with young children. I make choices that do not allow my books to be worked upon, but that hopefully allow for a better life for my children at home. I will never give up on my children, but I will never give up on my writing, either. Children age. They become themselves more and need their parents less. A saddening thing for parents, but maybe also a happy thing for single-parent writers with book aspirations.

I will continue to write in these moments I find here and there. And I will continue to log my trials in this blog only read by my family. I've never even gone back and re-read any of my entries. But they're here if I ever want to. The ones I sat in Halpin's to write, with the iPad freezing because I was typing so fast, enjoying their raspberry jam on a gluten-free roll. The ones I wrote in The Coffee Shop while eating scrambled eggs and a slice of gluten-free toast with delicious Irish butter. And most delightful, the many times I wrote actual pages of the book at my dear Beier Coffee Shop.

I miss Ireland terribly and I try and pull a happy face while here, knowing that lamenting not being there isn't going to make being here any better. But I miss everything about it there in Wicklow. Our lives were simpler, happier and peaceful. I miss all the dear people we met and grew to know and I to love while we were there. And my deficiency with correspondence has left no trace for them to know  of the overwhelming impact they had on my life, or on the empty space left behind after returning to the States. I am embarrassed at my lack of communication and it leaves me not reaching out, when all I want to do is alert them to how much they mean to me still to this day. I miss them and feel inadequate in trying to express my feelings. So I express nothing. Unable to implement a grand enough gesture to express my gratitude and love, I do nothing. And then I say it's too late anyway. They don't remember us. But that's probably not true, and even if it was, it's not the point. The point is me realizing that doing something, ANYTHING, is better than doing nothing. It doesn't matter that it's coming up on two years, No Time Is As Good As The Present. So do it, Becky. Reach out to these people who were so gracious and accepting, loving and kind. Conquer your fear of inadequacy. The only truly inadequate gesture would be to continue doing nothing.

A different ending to this post than beginning, but within the same thread of thought. Continue the important things you start, no matter how far they wander away or how long they seem to drift. Much MUCH love to Ireland, the country of my heart. Much MUCH love to my books, the inspiration within my heart. Thank you ❤️

And sláinte