So I was thinking . . . blog again?
I have the desire. I have the time. I have the know-how. I even have a new office/writing room I have created for myself.

But maybe it’s not a good time. I have a problem. I’m too happy. Things are going too well. I’m blessed. Amazed. Hitting on all cylinders. I’m not so sure folks enjoy reading another’s fortune and bliss.
My most successful blog ever—the one that gained the most reader attention was born from illness—breast cancer. Positive comments rained back to me as I shared a journey riddled with doctor appointments, diagnosis, bratty cussing fits, and reports of severe constipation and my bald head. Seems that those who knew me, and even some who did not, devoured that stuff.
But do people ever really enjoy reading accounts of a blissful journey as much as that of a life challenge? Not sure. And I say that completely, sans judgment.
Then I had a chance encounter with a teacher friend. True teachers are teachers whenever, wherever, and for whomever. Mr. M and I were standing in the parking lot of the administration building following a meeting. My last official meeting as an employee of the school corporation. As we were about to part, as if to say “When will I hear from you again?” he asked, “Are you on facebook?”
“No.”
“Blogging?”
“No.”
He encouraged me to open a facebook page and resume blogging.
I explained my dilemma: “I’m pondering blogging again, but I just don’t want to write about my “Mary Poppins” (practically perfect in every way) life and make everyone puke. Is anyone really interested in reading about how happy and fulfilled I am? Will they grow to hate me?”
“Do it,” he encouraged. And open a facebook page to direct people there.” He continued, “People want to read about any type of journey. And if you write something that doesn’t interest us, we don’t have to read that particular post.” He went on to explain that he had read every one of my “cancer journey” posts, and with great honesty, he explained, “I got sick of the cancer, just like you did.” And then he followed that statement with one  encouraging enough to prod me to take this step. Blog again.
I thanked him. “You know, you don’t have to be in a classroom to teach. You just taught me something right now. Right here in this parking lot.”
This one’s for you, Mr. M.  Thanks.