Almost a year ago (I was then in the US), I wrote my first blog post. It began,“Dear blog readers,This is a big day. [...] my shiny new blog is being announced in On Being today. I am working on my first post which, I am sure you’ll agree, is all-important in the history of (my) blogging. And I won’t drag my feet, and I will not shoot for perfection – I will simply write it…”

But lately I haven’t written much. So, earlier this evening I took myself out for a serious chat. I slipped by everyone at work, phoned home to say I’d be late, and sat in a riverside café with a plate of shrimp rissóis (sort of fried rolls of shrimp in batter shaped like a crescent moon) and a glass of wine. What to do about my growing blog paralysis was the question I wanted to ask myself, and answer too.

Boats filled with tourists went up and down the river right before my eyes. They looked as surreal as the TV anchors’ smiles when they tell us – which they do at all hours of the day – how much the national debt increases at every breath we take. The President speaks to the nation, the experts fight among themselves, and the politicians play navel-gazing games.

On most days, someone I know files for bankruptcy, loses a job, leaves a spouse, starts taking pills for anxiety, or depression, or both. ‘Why don’t you write about what’s going on, an article, an essay, a report, something?’ I hear. Because I can’t, is the answer – not an essay, not now, not yet.

But it was a good idea to get myself out for a drink, for I did get my answer. As I watched the elegant boats, the image of a raft began to form – a raft of words written in short bursts, in response to  a sentence, an image, a thought. A patchwork blog, perhaps, but one I can keep stitching: shorter stories, musings, and anything in-between. Paper and pencil, a laptop and the internet will keep it going. The truth is, without writing, I don’t breathe so well.

So here’s a toast to my first raft-post, which will go up in the next few days. I hope to see you then!