Writing the first post of a blog always seems daunting to me and often (as is the case with restarting my blog) arrests any start I intend to make. I procrastinate and put it off for some time when I will feel more “inspired.” And then the questions roll in. How am I going to grab the reader’s attention? Do I give a lengthy backstory on what brought me here? Should I just spit facts and details to flesh out who I am, or think I am, at this point in time? Or do I just throw the reader in the middle of things?
How many books and stories and movies have we encountered where that is exactly where we start the journey. Smack dab in the thick of it. We have no idea yet what brought this character to their current predicament or where they are going next. We get sucked into the moment and, piece by piece, the story fleshes itself out. We are given tidbits and insights along the way, much like you would when meeting a fellow traveler on a lengthy trip. Initially you are complete strangers, and maybe by the end you have shared intimate details you wouldn’t dream of dispensing to your closest friends.
A lot of things have brought me to resurrect blogging. In the past, I was pretty peripheral and terrible about it. The fluffiness of my running/fitness blog isn’t something I mention to many people, and yet there is still a small attachment to it. As is evident by my refusal to ditch the handle “phillynerdgirl” in spite of coming up with it more than 7 years ago. I’m a sentimental person, and the juvenile-seeming handle is not spared from that. It really has nothing to do with the content of this blog while at the same time having everything to do with it. I am a girl, I am a nerd, and the major city that has my heart is Philadelphia, PA. An area that significantly shaped who I am right now, and brought about the most incredible and awful chapter of my life thus far. A chapter that is rapidly closing and the next one is just beginning.
In 17 days, I will honor the anniversary of my husband Dan’s death. I never imagined in all my 36 years I would carry the title “widow” well before becoming an elderly person, and yet here I am. Wrapping my brain around it gives no relief to the reality of what happened. It will never make sense. I could write at length about what brought me to this widow life, and over time I will. But for now, dear reader, you are stepping in at the point where I am making moves to redfine who “Krissie” is going to be going forward, and I hope you will stay for a while. Welcome to the other side of things.