It’s January 1, which seems like the perfect time to launch my new blog. I'll be posting some of reflections and stories from my work as a school principal and sometimes other stuff, too. I'll cover the stumbles, the troubles, the epiphanies, and the joyful moments of work and life.
To pave the way for this new commitment, I made a bold move: Yesterday, I deleted a blog I’ve maintained for almost five years. I had worked on it feverishly in the beginning, lackadaisically in the middle, and, lately, barely at all; I had come to see it with the detached distance of someone who’s so over it. It was hard to delete it, though, if for no other reason than it represented hours and hours of writing. Hours.
I’ve done this sort of thing before—released myself from collections of writing. For me, it’s healthy. It’s the same feeling I get when I start to clean out a drawer and decide, impulsively but with full clarity, to throw it all away. All of it. Gone. Restart.
To be sure, deleting my blog took a lot more will than when I toss a drawer’s worth of rubber bands, screws, half-used Scotch tape, dried-up glue sticks, and tarnished pennies.
I had to really think about this one. Have I mentioned the hours I’d put into the blog?
But it was time. So I clicked “delete.”
The blog gods asked if I meant it.
I clicked again. Confirm.
The blog gods asked if I was sure.
The blog gods asked if I understood that this could not be undone. “Are you sure?”
I paused— but only for a moment.
And it was gone.
I closed my laptop and reached for the book I’d just borrowed from the library, What Comes Next and How to Like It by Abigail Thomas. I opened it up and, I kid you not, these were the first words:
… I’m mulling over the story I spent years writing and failed to turn into anything, trying not to be depressed. Nothing is wasted when you are a writer. The stuff that doesn’t work has to be written to make way for the stuff that might; often you need to take the long way round.
Okay, then. Serendipity?
That’s a hell of a way to start Day #1.