Blogging is not dead.

Tonight I was at a Relief Society luau. I helped out with the activity even though it's not my calling, yet. (Diane, who was in charge, instructed me that the drinks I was responsible for were to be cold, but "we don't do ice in this ward.") It was the perfect combination of a Mormon meal and Hawaiian kitsch.

They invited a group of young Polynesian girls to dance--hula, Tahitian, Samoan. I thought it was so neat how those girls get to grow up strong in their culture. I'm too self conscious to say anything more about it because of my journalistic ways. (I don't want to paint with a broad brush, say anything racist or potentially damaging to minority cultures, something stupid or inaccurate. These are the kinds of things you have to deal with when you're a writer—not to mention the obligation to write actual facts.)

But for whatever reason, the beautiful long hair and soft movements of the Polynesian girls dancing on the cultural hall stage, which has surely been done at some point in all North American Mormon cultural halls, it made me want to write.

I am as familiar with the urge to write as I am the nag to cut my toe nails or polish the wood floors. But no, it's more than that. And it's less than that. More because it's something I don't just have to do, it's something I want to do. Desperately. Less than that because I never actually do it. To count the times I felt a strong pull to the keyboard and didn't sickens me. What a waste.

So many times since I returned from my mission in 2012 (2012!) I have thought, "I should write that," or "I used to be a good writer," or "Take to writing," or simply, "Write."

Since then I have been consumed with dating, finishing a college degree, securing full-time employment and the casual event of getting married to Blake. I've also watched a lot of Netflix, scrolled through Instagram countless times a day, and read countless articles (news or otherwise) via Facebook. I don't really want to talk about why I don't write anymore (although the only other thing I will say is that I do this for a living, sort of), I just don't.

It seems like very few people do anymore. Why?

One thing is that it seems like everything these days is about body image or

 gender or race or how poorly people are treated: women, the poor, the working class, all racial minorities. And the thing is I AM ALL ABOUT THAT. But it definitely takes away my wonder and amazement at the world. Emphasize on wonder.

I used to be so filled with it. I still feel wonder at the occasional cool summer night's breeze, or catching a glimpse of how the beard of my sweet Blake contrasts the white of his shirt. But I used to just see it every day. I'm thinking of this post in particular.

Maybe I stopped seeing new things, or I started driving more. Maybe I grew up. And that's the depressing part! (Admittedly, adulthood has its perks: I have a crock pot and can make homemade Cafe Rio every night if I want; we have a nice couch that we cost more than everything else in our apartment combined; I can have sex and so on.)

The great thing about writing is it's just you and your thoughts. Nothing else. I have been toying with playing some background Joni Mitchell while I write, but it's just not the same.

It's like--I grew up. But I also didn't. Like, if I'm so grown up, why am I on Facebook and Instagram all the time? Why am I not exercising instead of finishing Gilmore Girls for the second time? These are questions I don't have answers to. I just figured I would barf it all out here.