Ok, so apparently I blog now. I have been resistant to the entire blogging phenom, as it seemed all at once ostentatious, pointless, time-consuming, too public, too needy, etc. Yet lately I have been pushed by the universe to write, and this is a space I can quite literally ostensibly spout to my big heart’s content. Or until I get distracted or bored. Whichever itch arises first.

My “pushed by the universe” in this instance was hearing over and again from random peeps “Do you write?” “You should write more!” “Are you a writer?”… not that creative a list of examples, I'm aware, but you get the idea.

Most of what I’ve been dancing around in the last few years has been moving away from what my head wants to do and toward what the world/my instinct/that (sometimes nauseous, sometimes fluttery) gut feeling/intuition wants me to do. Random peeps + consistent, coaxing, casual comments concerning composition? = Universe’s Thumb gesturing toward blog.

The reason that this holds any interest at all (and I am not presuming to say that it does in the least bit, but people are even seemingly attracted to banal blogs) is that more often than not, the Thumb does not point in a direction that I am eager to go. Like, when the sh** hits the fan and the Thumb is pointing to sitting down to meditation and I go, “Um, Thumb, didn’t you mean that you should be gesturing to the Blue Ribbon wine bar stool and those last droplets of sancerre that are soon to be extinguished from the summer season? And maybe some tasty flatbreads to go with that? Like, maintenant? Surely, Thumb, you don’t want me to just sit on my ass and watch my thoughts for 15 minutes…? Dude, all I need to do is throw on a pair of slingbacks and cross 6th avenue and those last sips of August will calm me just as easily (and perhaps more deliciously) than some weird chanting Tibetan guy… ARE YOU THERE GOD, IT’S ME, MARGARET!?!?”

This struggle will go on for a few minutes. I somehow get my ass sitting for a few minutes. The struggle will continue in my head for a few minutes. The weird guy chants. I zone in. And more often than not? It calms me. Even if not totally, at least somewhat. And more often than not? I will sit on my ass quietly instead of choosing the bar stool. Or at least, sit and THEN choose the bar stool. And more often than not? I like that this relationship to the world, to the Thumb, is guiding me. Because lately I’m finding myself happier, healthier, prettier. Everything is easier. My frickin HAIR looks better. And I can still have the sancerre and the high heels. But I sure as heck don’t need them.

And this is what I shall blog about. This struggle. This release. Good food. Yoga/yumminess/oneness/sex/the city. The Thumb. My hair. Weird Tibetan chant people. The gymnastics of being a hippie in high heels.

Om to your mother.