Has it been a month already?
Here’s the thing. I don’t write to be read. I don’t write because I have something to say. I write to find myself.
And while I thought I already knew my family—and I did—maybe I didn’t. I knew my story. Yes. I knew there were themes running deeply through me. I knew there were truths that crafted me. But I hadn’t written them. My knowing remained partial at best.
This challenge stretched me in interesting ways. It gave me a chance to think about my family through different filters. And in an effort to write about private people in a public forum, I had the gift of thinking more in roles and presences and moments than in names and images.
These 31 posts are not all-inclusive. They are not comprehensive. They barely scratch the surface. They leave more unwritten than is written.
This month was about more than the discipline of writing; it was about the discipline of thinking. I’m a context person. I don’t understand concepts well in isolation. And to know me, I need my family—my context.
All I write is written from my seat at the family table. The faces around the table change—we’re a dynamic collection some born in, some brought in—but I’m grateful for each one. And I’m grateful for this chance to know us better.
This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.