Lately it feels like life is running on ahead of me at a pace I cannot match. I try to catch up, and my life skips easily away. Just as my life reaches the other side of the street, the stoplight turns red and halts me. Life ambles forward.
Optimal velocity is difficult to achieve and sustain. Rather, it happens for me sporadically, and the rest of the time I wish things were different from either side of the ideal.
This perpetual sensation of not keeping up, of maintaining an unusually high personal speed, created discomfort and frustration. Greater demands in one area of my life meant that something had to go. Additional time in front of a computer while I wrote for pleasure was what I gradually and temporarily erased from the day-to-day.
Even though I think I made the right choice in doing so, I miss spending time here. Chasing Mailboxes has been a space to write unabashedly about cycling and running around the city. It’s a far cry from the writing I do in my work, and I consistently find it freeing.
This little blog has had the unexpected benefit of connecting me to others who share my interests. It’s been rewarding to see the blog gather a regular readership over time, and to engage in virtual conversations with people. Occasionally, we even happen to meet in real life.
I can’t believe all the content, posts, and memories that have accumulated here over the last six years. Chasing Mailboxes is a second home to me.
This post may not make sense to everyone. Most people understand that a personal blog is an on-your-own-terms affair. But that’s the thing. Once I started blogging, I did apply my own terms. Recently I’ve had to change those, and it has taken some time to accept them.
Taking a break from the blog has not been all bad. It’s been satisfying to experience riding and running as solely acts of the moment, rather than activities of reflection as well. It’s by stepping away that I also remembered what I love about blogging.
And I’m glad I didn’t write posts without any heart in order to adhere to some self-imposed schedule. I may not be a great writer, but over the years I’ve earnestly been attempting to show you the heart behind these words.