This was a year of chasing dreams, with all that entails--work, luck, elation, doubt, fear, more work, and the wildly-swinging pendulum ride between the different roles I am trying to fill.
I look at the blog, and instead of the two posts I wrote this year, I see the spaces between those date stamps, the posts I didn't write--for so many reasons, but one in particular that surprised me, that I still haven't solved.
This blog has always been a space of honesty, of vulnerability, the type that seeks human connection and the sharing of experience and ideas. That is what I want to post; that is what people come here to read. But I launched two careers this year, and now I have extra voices playing in my head.
Don't write about your back problems, your realizations about chronic pain, your fears of being broken. Local people might question whether you can still be a good dance instructor.
Don't write about your children, the things you've learned about sensory processing disorders, the tears that went into your decision to homeschool this year. What if people are looking to connect with you for writing reasons and brush you off because you're too "mommy"?
And so I haven't. Those long spaces sit there between the date stamps.
But this is my truth as I leave 2016: It's okay.
It's okay that I only had two posts this year.
It's okay that I sometimes can't find my balance between momming and writing and dancing and wifeing and churching and being. When you juggle, you don't have your hand on every ball at the same time.
It's okay if I don't post here again until August.
It's okay if I post tomorrow.
It's okay if I sometimes post things that aren't deep and soul-searching.
It's okay if sometimes I need to post things that are.
I don't know what direction this blog will take over the next couple of years as I seek to find my online balance, but I can promise this: It will still reflect me, and hopefully through my experiences, parts of humanity as a whole. And, posting frequently or not, I will try to move forward into this year with all the confidence of a two-year-old in her favorite unicorn shirt.
(Let's be real, though--no adult I know has THAT much confidence.)