Sitting down to write this post has a slightly awkward feel about it.
Almost like tea-ing with a friend you haven't seen for a long time, and you almost don't know where to start the conversation, but to make mention of the weather. Which is sunny, but icicle-cold today.
I've been exploring in my mind, and voicing my thoughts to friends over the last week; trying to explain my last blog post. My weariness of social media, and being somewhat jaded by the idea of our online life (especially as opposed to our reality).
My conclusion is long, complicated and very, very simple.
There is a joy that comes from this creative outlet for me that is inexplicable, which draws me back and keeps me here.
It is a combination of releasing thoughts and ideas, and playing with words, to capturing memories and life at it's prettiest and messiest.
There is the knowing that this is just what I need to do.
There is the needing to write, and needing to be read.
There is the knowing that I can bring voice, and freedom to others with my words, and sharing faith; and in my search for inspiration, and beauty in ordinary, the knowing that others will be inspired to seek out the same.
And there is the knowing that regardless of whether I switch off to it all, that there is still me and that in my humanity and brokenness, there will be moments where ugliness will rise to the surface; that insecurity in my life was not created at the same moment Facebook was.
Amongst the negativity that is social media, I know I can reframe my thoughts about my value, remember who I am (and Whose I am) and know that my worth doesn't come from here-one-minute-and-gone-the-next-Instagram (or anything else so fleeting), and learn to not to allow it all to take up so much headspace.
And on top of all that my love of story, of the stories of others, must mean I should place a greater value on my story. Not to elevate myself, or claim fame or to shout out a gigantic 'look at me!' but to place weight on the testimony of grace and goodness in my life.
That I can be thankful, because weeds presented by tiny hands and loving hearts, and messy lawns covered in golden leaves are all part of the beauty.
And I'll live it all much more than I share it.