Blogging in Dark Times, Redux

I don’t know how to write here after that election. I tried, but I just deleted it all. So, I’m reposting something I wrote two years ago, because you know how history repeats itself.

March 10, 2022

As I write this, I’m thinking about the war in Ukraine. Almost two years ago, I wrote about the weirdness of “living on vacation” and writing about it when the rest of the world seems like it’s on fire (George Floyd had just been killed). I’ve blogged about my nomadic life during the worst of the pandemic, throughout the recent presidential election, and (I don’t know why this one stands out, especially) the emotional moment I learned that Ruth Bader Ginsburg had died. 

That’s when I took a brief break from blogging. I wrote, “The news cannot be ignored, and my silly little travel blog is not a venue for addressing it.” 

I will never feel entirely comfortable putting this content out into the world when I could be being more productive with my time; when my mind is occupied by bigger things; when I’m aware that some readers don’t know me well and misinterpret me. That’s something I’ll have to get used to. Yet, as the world continues to fall apart and gets knit back together, I’m going to keep on blogging. It’s a way I understand my time here.  

It’s worth repeating that that was just two years ago. What I’ve learned since then is that some readers truly appreciate checking in here when the world seems dimmest. I’ve provided pretty pictures when people were stuck at home, stories from far away. 

I guess this is a long way around saying that I’ll keep blogging. But, don’t mistake this for indifference or acceptance.  

What will change is that I’m going to try to complain less. Which, frankly, is hard for me! But, do you really want to hear about my recent eyelid surgery? Or the next two days spent getting my muscles shocked by my neurologist? No and no, is my bet. (Although I could make that eyelid story funny. The doctor with a scalpel to my eyeball had pretty bad breath.)

So here are the non-whiny deets on where we are.  

(Brown is this year’s camping spots in this area.)

We couldn’t make exact plans after north of Houston because of me being held hostage by various doctors poking me, so we figured we’d camp on the beach. But then a tropical storm threatened Texas’ Gulf Shore. 

Amazingly, we got the last available site at Sea Rim State Park near Port Arthur, with camping right by the beach. 

Because the beach camping closure has been extended, we’re staying through the week here, but we’re moving across the street to a newly available campsite that looks out at the ocean. 

I’ve been overwhelming my senses here. Strong, steady winds, the sound of the heavy tides, rain in my face.  It’s washed away the grief and fear and awakened me to the basics: reading reputable news sources (not social media blips), supporting loved ones, keeping an eye out for how I can help. 

We all need to be fully awake now.

11 thoughts to “Blogging in Dark Times, Redux”

  1. I understand how you feel… though I tend to do the opposite. I’ve had a rough week acknowledging the levels of hatred and disrespect in this country are higher than I thought, but I’m still plugging away with my ridiculous little blog. We need a break. Yes, it’s awful. Yes, it’s going to be a tough 4 years. But the sun will still come up every morning and I still need to hear your humorous story about an optician with halitosis. That’s how I cope.
    😉

    1. Here’s the quickie story for your rough week. Upon seeing a bump on my eyelid (where eyelashes should be), my dermatologist said for me to call an ophthalmologist as soon as I left the office. So, cancer for sure. When I googled what that guy does, I was set for partial eyelid removal and reconstruction through skin graft. Worse than egads. But he said, no cancer, and, I can remove that here. So there I sat relieved and in pain while he took scalpel to eyelid, but mostly mortified by his breath. Every time he came close and warned me that this would hurt, I thought, little do you know.

      1. Holy crap! That must have been terrifying.. not to mention odiferous.
        I can not deal with anyone near my eyes. Coming at me with a scalpel? Nope, you’d have to sedate me.

        1. To his credit, he did a great job with the local anesthesia (although it was a long needle) and then talking me through the procedure that I could still feel. He was a great doc and I feel bad maligning him!

  2. I’ll admit, my very first thought on Wednesday morning was, no more blogging. But of course that lasted all of sixty seconds. This is my refuge, my second home, and keeps me sane. No way am I giving that up.

    1. I know what you mean. I’m all acting like I’m doing a public service but of course this place is for me. I hear ya.

    1. Oh, yes, allow yourself whatever stage of election grief you’re in during colonoscopy prep. Best wishes, if there is such a thing.

  3. I love your photos and travel accounts but a it’s nice to have a bit of the personal in there as well – we are all human

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