I could go into a full explanation about why I wasn’t writing, what happened, and how sorry I am…
…but the truth is that anything I could say is really just a big excuse.
So a new year, a new blog, and maybe a new me (though that probably won’t happen until maybe the end of the year).
I was sitting at a bar with a friend of mine, chatting about what six months can do to a person. Her family was in New York City, about four hours away from me and well worth the trip on a bus. We were talking about future goals, dreams of a not-so-likely future, when the topic came of my writing. What was I writing? How far was I along with my novel? What about that blog I started?
The idea crossed my mind to lie. Say I was nearly finished with my novel, writing every day, and kept with my blog daily. I would’ve said I was on top of things.
But I didn’t.
I told her the truth. She is a good friend and I trusted her not to judge my faults. She responded in the best way possible.
She told me her own faults, where she fell short.
The greatest bit about a true friendship is that there are no judgments. We build each other up and point out the parts sticking out awkwardly. We laugh at embarrassing moments in each other’s lives, not to embarrass further, but to help laugh off the event. To make things easier. To make life easier.
We promised to see each other again in March and then in December, but even if we didn’t, I don’t think I’d mind. I know she’s still a friend–the best of friends–and we might be apart for years. Never speaking. Not even a tag on Facebook.
Yet, we would still be friends.