A Year-Long Love Letter.

@postaday 371; #postaday2011.

Dear Reader:

I did it! More than a year of writing blog entries here at lavagal.net. I figured out a few technical things to make the site more accessible, I added art whenever I could, I tried to put in words what I felt might be what you’d enjoy reading. I did everything I could to get you to come back, to read, to look at me again.

It isn’t quite an addiction, but more of a sense that I was obligated to deliver. I made a promise to myself that I would write here every day. At first no one came to see, but after a while, I was getting more than 25 hits a day. That excited me! Now I get more than 50 a day, and I am humbled by that. It makes me feel that I really need to write, and write the truth, even if it embarrasses me. And on those days when I phoned it in, I worried that no one would ever come back and read me again.

Earlier this year I had a conversation with someone about how reading is so satisfying to people. So what must it be like to write something that people want to read? What does someone feel when they read what I write and like it?

When you read a book you like, when you latch onto a columnist you admire, when you devour a series and crave more, who is to say it’s any different than craving potato chips, chocolate, or to secretly gaze at someone without them knowing it? It is interesting to me that I can write and I can convey a message, and I can convey a subliminal message the written words dance around, and that only a select audience will feel their eyes soften, a warmth rise in their chest, and they’ll possibly hold that thought a little longer, maybe forever.

I’m certainly not done. I do think I’ll be venturing beyond the safety of navel gazing, and stretch myself to free fall out of my comfort zone, to risk writing wildly into your hearts, because it all boils down to love.


By lavagal

Hawaii Kai wife and mom. Melanoma Stage 3a Cancer survivor. English Language Arts teacher, English Learners Coordinator, and Paraprofessional Tutor. Super sub teacher. Dormant triathlete. Road cyclist and Masters swimmer. Gardener. Mrs. Fixit. Random dancer. Music Curator. A teenager trapped in an aging body. Did you know 60 is the new 40? It is.

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