I’m finding it more and more difficult to write for the blog these days. I don’t have much to say, I suppose. Or maybe it’s that I feel I don’t have anything worth saying in long form.

While the blog suffers, the songwriting is going well. Right now, I’m averaging about four cowriting sessions per week. I’m learning how to better shorten and turn phrases so that they become singable lyrics. I never knew I could be so happy spending 2-hour chunks of time writing with other people (including strangers), creating words that say something in a way that can be translated into music.

Then, there’s the piano. The more I play, the better I play. It’s all clicking.

Little by little, I’m back to singing. The lack of use took a toll on my singing voice, but strength and endurance are coming back quickly.

I’ve wasted so much time in my life, and now, it’s like I can’t get enough of the good stuff.

Yesterday, I told my best friend how I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t care about wasting time and energy on pretentiousness or trying to please people or faking how I feel. I want to be intentional about creating deep, intimate friendships. Those are the people who will be there when shit goes down, when I need a shoulder or a hand. I don’t have time for anything less.

At age 41 (and a half, as my kids would say), I want happiness and laughter and passion and connection and beautiful experiences. Sometimes, I think I’d like to sell my house and travel the world because there’s so much I haven’t seen and done. All the possessions I used to think I wanted are now weighing me down. A beautifully decorated, clean house doesn’t mean a darn thing, especially if there aren’t people to fill it with joy and laughter and conversation. I’m grasping the art of letting my home be messy so I can be happy.

If I could reverse time, I would raise my girls so differently. I would teach them more about exploring the world and ideas rather than trying to fit into other people’s expectations. I’d teach them how to make themselves happy rather than worrying about whether the people in their lives are happy. I plan to spend their remaining time at home doing just that.

I’m finding that we often lose things and people we love, but eventually, they come back to us in some form or fashion. If I’ve learned anything over the past six years, it’s that life is made up of the beautiful and the horrible and everything between, but it’s what we make of it that matters.