Last week marked my 4 years in this space. This fact is puzzling to me in many ways.

In the last 6 – 7 years, I’ve felt so undisciplined about so many areas of my life. I often complain to my closest family and friends that I am so consistent about inconsistency. For a few days, I am great with eating right and drinking water. Then, within a week, I give into eating a piece of cake or guzzling a coke. I am aware that I’ve stumbled and then convince myself I will be more consistent next week.

My lack of committment appears in other places too. My writing routine is not perfect. I get stuck. Writers will tell you to push through because there is really no “writer’s block.” It is a myth. Writing is simple. You sit down in the chair and just write. But that is the real rub. So much of writing is so hard. Every time I sit down to work on my memoir, the apprehension creeps into my fingers. I ask these questions: Who is interested in my story? What if no one wants to read it? Will these words be trapped on my laptop forever? What am I doing?  With these fears, the consistency, well, it becomes difficult to achieve.

This undisciplined approach sometimes feels as if I am inhabiting an alien’s body. In my twenties, my committment to my ambition never wavered. I set a goal and never doubted my path. Whether it was studying essays for my political science class or working as a teller and going to the law school simultaneously, my resolve always felt so solid.

As I entered into my thirties, so much happened. I gave up my legal career. We had a little girl. I lost my father. I moved to another state after living in Texas for almost 35 years. I gave birth to my blog. I started pursuing a freelance career and my memoir. When these moving parts of my life happened I lost my footing so so so many times. When I started this blog, mourning my father’s loss overwhelmed me so much that I felt as if no one understood. I needed an outlet to channel this inconsolable sadness that I felt. This process of writing, reflecting, and remembering helped to lift me off my knees to standing. I learned, week after week, that there were others too who experienced devastating losses but were also working their way back by writing on their personal blogs. And the lessons were not just limited to loss, but coming to terms with time, motherhood, marriage, and everything-in-between.

I know that I am still trying. Being Rudri lets me live inside that feeling of hope. Hope that I will get where I want to be. Someday.

Thanks so much to all my family, friends, and virtual community that have supported me for all of these years. Your support is something I depend on and it means much more to me than I can ever express adequately in words. 

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