It’s not often I see time pass, or contemplate the changes of a year. Neither anniversaries nor birthdays inspire this sort of contemplation. Yeah, yeah, sure whatever. Another day…and all that. Except at a friend’s birthday gathering I remarked to another good friend, Felice, how much had changed in the past year. When she asked me how, I mentioned a couple inconsequential events, but couldn’t really explain why this feeling seemed so suddenly very true.
Just the other day while I working on this post I realized I’d already written it — about a year ago. It was posted slightly less than, but originally drafted at exactly this time one year ago. I often worry that I am rehashing the same stories over and over again on this blog and use the search feature (located in the hidden menu at the bottom…psst, click the plus) to calm this fear. Except while this is a rerun, it isn’t. It’s a sequel. What’s changed is me.
Parts of…aspects of me are so very different feeling from how they felt last year. How they felt the year before that or years before that. Three months ago this post was first drafted into WordPress. I had been telling the same good friend featured in the first paragraph about the Austin Food Blogger Alliance potluck I had attended. I brought the lavender cake with hibiscus glaze shown above. I’d never made it before, and didn’t have a real recipe for it, but had spent an obsessive amount of time worrying over what to bring I settled on this and haven’t over thought the decision since. It was good. Enough. It wasn’t bad nor was it the best item — I think that designation may belong to some chocolate chip cookies. Getting on, Felice and I were at the local watering hole where everybody knows my name talking about how what had been a terrifying prospect hadn’t been so bad.
Felice asked if I was going to put the cake into a blog post. I jokingly said sure it’ll be a post about how supposedly scarey things like roller coasters don’t scare me. The things I find most terrifying are the most every day of occurrences. Except now sometimes they don’t scare me at all. Sometimes all I do is take a deep breath, tell myself I can do this, and walk into a room of the unknown. I survive every time.