She asked me a few weeks ago, before my month blew up a little in my face.
"I'm doing this thing on my blog for 100 days. You're more than welcome to join me. "
I smiled and nodded and went and read a post, and then shut the browser to pack for my sister's bachelorette party.
I went without stopping for three weeks. Sister's bachelorette party. Sister's wedding. Retreat. Idea Camp. Best friend's bridal shower. One-by-one these events passed and the only thing I could really do is jot a few sentences down in my journal. I think there's maybe three posts for the month of September here on the blog, and in my art journal, usually my first-stop for word spilling, I only have four spreads for over three weeks of living.
And then I read this post on Tuesday and I remembered what it was like to craft words just because I love it. I remembered the quick-breath-intake of hitting publish and knowing the post will land where it will land. I am a fan of timing—of the study of time and knowing when something is good vs. great vs. perfect. Reading the post, noticing the challenge, feeling the yes rise up in my bones, I knew I would be taking part in the challenge. Even though others have been counting down for some time, today is my day one.
My word for the year is RISK. I'll be filing my posts under that category since thinking of doing-the-brave-thing for 100 days is a bit of a risk and makes me shake a little internally. In a way, these posts will be like my morning pages, reminding me what it means to sit my ass in the chair and write. I may write bravely or I may write about something brave I did or who knows, really. If I've learned anything this year it's that plans have a way of making a fool out of all of us.
But I can dream. And in 100 days, my dream is to be a little softer around the edges.