Identity Crisis

Saturday night I pretended to be

a. under 25
b. childless
c. awake after 11 p.m. and
d. in my element at a bar with hip kids wearing outfits I didn’t even understand


While those parts were a little misleading, the glaring truth was that
yes, being a mom and crawling around the floor with my mesmerizing mini-Clayton fulfills all of my heart,
yes, my soul feels alive when I am in the midst of creativity—music, theater and, most relevant, good writing (Mindy Kaling’s book need not apply).

I want to write, and my blog is the best forum I can think of to do that right now. It’s completely on my own terms and I have the luxury of writing always or never. But I want to write about more than spit up stains, even though many days that’s all that comes to mind when I dig for content. Of course by content, I mean a clean shirt to wear to Target.

There’s not a real reason why I’m sharing this. Maybe accountability. Maybe because it needs to stop echoing around my head and just stick on a page somewhere. But the motivation fairy hit me square in the face Saturday night, right around the first chorus of Tallhart’s “Drunk Kids.” (Hey, drunk kids, it’s a commentary, not a celebration. Put your plastic cup down and pay attention. Sorry, where were we?)


This is what drives me. To create with words. Not for money, because I get paid enough to shift commas around and pitch retirement homes, but to constantly step into who I am at my core. If I am not writing, I do not feel whole. That’s a heavy statement for someone who blogs once a month about the different fruits her kid is eating, but it’s a truth I realized years ago and bears remembering. Out loud. In a public space.

I am not asking you to stick around to read it. I know that one time I may have been witty and actually funny and worth a glance. I also know it’s been many moons since that day. I’m fine with that: my 8 pound, 3.7 ounce excuse is satisfactory for me.

But now I need this. To feed my soul and feel awake creatively, resulting in
a more gracious wife,
a more patient and attentive mother,
a more understanding friend
a more effective leader and even
a writer worth reading.

Thanks for sticking this transition out. The past two years have brought on an astounding number of changes to the who, what, where and why of me. Inevitably, my voice as a writer must change with it. I think I’m ready to see what that voice will say.

And most certainly that voice will say it sarcastically.

Okay, fine. There will still be A LOT of Addison up in here. I’m already embarrassing her in real life, may as well complete the digital circle.

nat A rays

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