I realized a truth about myself just the other day. It’s a big one so its evasiveness took me by surprise.
I need my tent on the beach.
This has been a place I’ve written for years and years, almost 10 years of thoughts to be exact and suddenly, because of one issue about a piece I had written that was actually pretty amazing, frankly, but was misunderstood, I abandoned the tent.
It makes me sad to think it’s been just standing here, becoming weathered with misuse. It’s a damn fine tent. And if it’ll have me back, I’m ready to pack it full of good things. Whether or not you can visit is, pretty much, up to you. But I won’t leave it again. Tents are for exploration.
And I won’t censor it either. What’s here is real for me and if you don’t like it, don’t look.
How dare I disrespect myself and my ideas because somebody doesn’t like the reality they’ve made for themselves. Too long I’ve worried about that. It’s too long in coming but, “no more,” I say. My Tent on the Beach is back in business.
In November, as part of a project I’m doing with friends, I’m committing to write every day for 30 days. This will be the spot for it. I’m not sure what it will be that I’m moved to write down. I’ve waited a long time to say things. It feels time to dig back in.
I’m just settling back in but it feels right.
I’m home again.