I’ve written this post a dozen different ways in my head, but nothing works. In those imaginary publications, I list the ways I’m over-committed, offer lengthy descriptions of my desk piled high with un-filed papers, walk through misty-eyed retrospectives of the past 5 1/2 years and 455(!) posts, wax prosaic on intense desires to start knitting again and stop taking pictures of my food. But none of these are reasons to stop blogging, not in and of themselves. Everyone is busy — you are busy, I am busy, we’re all busy — my desk has been messy for eternity past and I’ve knitted plenty of things over the years, while blogging (though admittedly not simultaneously).
The truth is, I don’t really know why I need to stop. I just know it’s time.
When I first started writing, there were about three people, all close friends, who read my blog. It will never cease to amaze me that over the course of five years, many more than that original trio have read it — people I’ve never met, people across oceans have even chosen to read it regularly. I think that fact alone has kept me blogging during the times it was a really hard thing to do. Simply typing the words thank you in no way communicates the level at which I appreciate those of you who’ve invested your time in reading what I have written here — I have truly loved the connections that blogging has given me to people all around, from my own neighborhood to across the country, from people I’ve seen and hugged to people I’ll never meet face to face. Blogging can be crazy that way, crazy good.
Once upon a time, I wrote when I felt like it. I posted a photo every so often, if I happened to have time to take a snapshot. I loved it — I did it because it poured out of me, a river of words that was impossible to stop and I was just thankful to have a place to let the current flow.
But the past (almost) year has been a struggle. I can no longer sanely keep up with it regularly, and it has come to feel more of a burden than a joyful outlet for creativity — which is unfair to all involved, as I and blog and reader all suffer. When asked by my (loving and concerned) husband on more than one occasion how long are you going to do this? my answer was always until I no longer enjoy it.
And I’m sad and a little bit relieved to say that day has finally come.
But the question for me remained: what does it look like, to stop blogging?
For me, it’ll probably be more of a break than a break up. I’m not deleting my blog — for the time being, this blog and all of its archives will still be here. And I will likely even post again — I would love to finish my series on Grocery Budgeting — but for the immediate future I will not post with any regularity. I will also be retreating a great deal from social media — that is one part of blogging that can be the biggest drain on an introvert like me. For those of you who read only occasionally, you will likely not notice any change — for those who faithfully read (hi Mom & Dad!), you can expect a much lower frequency, especially in coming months.
Some things won’t change. I’ll still (always) be cooking — frazzled, enamored, frustrated, eternally delighted with food.
Just quiet. And deeply thankful for those who have read.
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