Intimidation. Of the most innocent kind.

That's why I don't blog more. Because everyone else seems to be doing it [and life] better and cooler than me. I have one friend who blogs with almost excessive doses of hilarity, humour, and humility about being a mother and a TCK at Ink Blots, for example. Another blogger, Ali Rae, whom I would love to meet some day is aboard the Africa Mercy and blogs about life-changing operations in Togo and the fragile, beautiful life moments between life and death and hope. Other bloggers send out challenges to live intentionally in eastern Europe, California, and so on.

And if I had the guts and/or discipline I'd be blogging about life here in Holland. About the way I hoist my bike onto my shoulder to carry it up the stone bridge stairs, and hope that the two Muslim women in full black robes behind me don't think I'm a shameless girl. About the way I make a mental note every time I actually see someone in wooden clogs (once or twice a year.) About how the job(s) I hold alternately fascinate me and drive me insane. About how, after two years of living here, I am lucky enough to have found one girl friend to share frustrations and excitements with (preferably while enjoying the 1-euro breakfasts at Hema.)

Once I start talking, or writing, there's always plenty to tell. It's that first mental block that does me in. 

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