I had a post all written in my head, and half already on the computer.

It was called “Excerpts from a breakup” and began with some pieces out of old blog posts from when we first broke up in June 2008 and then a tiny bit of old posts from when we got back together in October 2008. Then I was going to draw clever parallels to this breakup, using snippets of recent conversations and bits of the letter I wrote him that I intended to drop off with the bag of his stuff.

All I was waiting for was the time to drop off the bag, and collect my things from his house, figuring that would be the end to the relationship and the blog post.

I was set. During the days of not talking to him I had steeled myself for the confrontation and was determined to stand firm in my convictions. I was done with him.

It didn’t quite work out that way. And I won’t be publishing that post.

Instead, I’m publishing this one. Click to read the one I DID write…and what really happened.

I might be scared of my blog.

Although I’ve been telling myself (and some of you)  that my recent absence from blogging has been because I haven’t felt like writing or I haven’t had anything to write about, I think I’m wrong. That might not be the whole truth.

This used to be where I could spill my guts, be open, honest, heart-on-my-sleeve, and really put everything out there. I am a little afraid to do that now.

There are things going on right now that last year I would have written about, things in my relationship and other parts of my life, and for some reason this year I find myself feeling guilty about writing them. Which begs me to consider:

Do I feel guilty for writing things about my personal life and putting them on the Internet, OR…

Do I feel guilty about the way I feel and no longer want to share because I’m ashamed of it?

Maybe I’ve outgrown this blog. I’ve been blogging for almost five years now and kept the same content from URL to URL, although the structure of the blog and the subject matter have changed several times. Five years in, with all the changes, I feel a little lost with my blog, like I no longer know what I can say here that is really of value to me as a writer or to you as a reader.

But I know I’d feel a little lost without it too.

Now what?

I’m finishing up my Media Law class in a few weeks and I have to brag on myself a bit before this post goes any further.

• I got the only 100% in the class on the case report
• Verbatim from the professor: “Impressive writing”
• Another verbatim: “I am more and more impressed by your analytical skills each week. This is one of the best answers to this challenging question that I have ever seen.”

</brag>

I just wanted to put this all in context for you.

I used to really want to go to law school. I blame John Grisham for getting me hooked on all things legal in high school, and even though I didn’t go the pre-law route in college, law school was still looking at me, and I was looking back.

The year I graduated, the joke around the English department was “law school is the new black” since so many people out of my class were going. But by that time I was a full-time employee and only a part-time student, and I knew that I’d have to subsist wholly on student loans for three years if I wanted to go to law school.

That was TERRIFYING.

Living without a steady paycheck didn’t seem as intimidating when I was a young college student – I had limited funds from Mom and Dad and I lived on the cheap. But when I went back to finish my degree after a two-year hiatus, I was used to having my own money, used to being able to eat out and buy cute clothes and take trips. I continued working full-time at The Hospital while I finished up my program in the evenings.

I wondered for a long time if I should have done it anyway.

I love studying law. I’m a research junkie and a stickler for semantics, qualities which meld beautifully for legal interpretation and writing. As confusing and over-complicated as it may be to read the law  sometimes, on some level it really makes sense to me. (Not the content of laws, I mean – I am thoroughly baffled by the impetus behind some of the statutes out there.) My favorite assignment for this class was a 5-page paper on nothing but that the exclusion of the word “jurisdiction” meant in the copyright statutes.

And I know I’m good at it. I have fun doing it.

I’m only 29, but at this point in my life I feel like the time to take that plunge has passed. And so has the time for regretting that I didn’t take it.

My shrink said something to me once about regret, and it stuck with me. I was going over and over a multitude of what I thought were bad choices I made in the past, thinking that if only I’d made those choices differently my life would somehow be better, more fulfilling, happier.

“Why do you think you should have gone to law school?” she asked.

“It’s what I wanted to do. It’s what I enjoyed. And I really wish I had at least tried.”

“Do you think you would be happier today if you had?”

“Probably. At least I wouldn’t regret not trying.”

But you don’t know, she said, and you never can know if you will or will not regret a decision – because every fork in the road goes more than two directions.

• I might have gone to law school and excelled and had a great career.
• I might have gone to law school and encountered a bad person who would kill me.
• I would never have met E – maybe I would have met someone just as great, maybe I wouldn’t, maybe I would have become an angry lesbian who only worked on sexual harassment suits.
• I might have gone to law school and hated it and just dropped out.

I might have regretted the deciding to go in the first place.

Who the hell knows?

Law school doesn’t necessarily lead to a law career. It leads to the next day – and the next, and the next, and every choice presents a series of new choices, and any one of them could be good or bad for me.

You never know what choice is going to make you happy – and you never know if the path you didn’t take would have been any better for you than the path you chose.

So I can enjoy Media Law while it lasts, rock it, and move on. I could do law school later, if I come to a point where I think it’s the right thing. I could just keep buying John Grisham books and re-watching “Legally Blonde” every few months, and follow the path I’m on now – wherever it happens to lead.

You never know.

What’s your what-if? Do you have regrets?

If there is one thing that losing mobility is teaching me – even though this is only a partial loss – it’s that every step must be taken with purpose.

Every step has to accomplish something, or it’s not worth the pain.

Without purpose, each step just jars my broken joint, twists my hip as I try to maintain my off-balance gait, and smooshes my calf uncomfortably against the metal supports on each side of my cast. Without purpose, without accomplishment, each step I take now is a step in the wrong direction.

I have to plan my movements now. When I go from one room to another, I must always carry something that belongs in the next room, because I should not make a special trip back to grab it later. I empty the trash and recycling right before I leave the house so I can combine the trip out with one to the bin – not making a separate trip another time just because the garbage has started to smell. I have to think ahead, plot my day around how many steps I want to take.

I’m not couch-bound by any means. I’m getting around on the air cast pretty well now. But I’m still rather slow, I’m still uncomfortable, still a little paranoid about compromising the healing process. My broken talus – the bone at the top of the foot that articulates with the tibia and the fibula to form the ankle joint – is apparently a rather important bone. If I’d broken it all the way through – and fortunately I didn’t, though just barely – I’d be in a hard cast and on crutches for at least 6 weeks.

So today, on my twenty-ninth birthday, I am thinking about purpose. About the steps I take in my life, not just with my feet, and whether they are forward or backward, whether they are unnecessary, dangerous, or worth all the risks no matter what.

I feel like my 2010 New Year’s Resolutions are turning out to be a pretty big fail already. But when you think about it, today is MY New Year, my holiday*. And maybe this is when I should make resolutions, on the day each year when I really inspect myself and my life and my direction. Twenty-eight was a pretty good year. I am optimistic about twenty-nine. And instead of a handful of resolutions carelessly drummed up so I could have yet another bullet-point list on my blog, why not this…

A Birthday Resolution for Twenty-Nine:

I will walk with purpose.

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* Well, mine and a shitload of stoners who will be passing the bowl – I like to think in my honor – at 4:20 on 4/20. Duuuude…

“Doing more, trying more, and laughing more… should come from your attitude, NOT your birth control!”

Really, Yaz? It’s all about my attitude? I mean, I could try doing a lot more people and laugh more about it if I’m on birth control.

And what does my goddamn attitude have to do with anything? I just want to NOT HAVE A BABY.

Then your commercial proceeds to show me how I will be a happier and more outgoing person if I take this Yaz thing. Exactly what you told me did NOT matter at the beginning of the spot.

Can we all appreciate the stupidity here?

The United States and New Zealand are the only countries in the world that allow Direct-to-Consumer advertising of prescription drugs. We Americans believe there’s a pill for everything. It’s no wonder healthcare costs are out of control in this country. Viva Viagra, indeed.

Birth control, I can see why you need a prescription for that. But am I really going to make my choice of a Very Important medication based on a commercial of yellow-suited synchronized swimmers? Nuva Ring, I am talking to you.

It’s not just the drugs, though.

The Heather Armstrong commercials on HGTV started about a month ago when I was sick with a chest cold, so I saw them over and over. And the more I watched, the more I never wanted to see the very awesome Dooce again.

I hate that HGTV has done this to me. And someone there obviously hates her because that blush? Is not a good look. She’s a pretty lady and the orange does her no favors. And that first set of commercials… “Heather Armstrong is joining HGTV!” and her balancing things on her dog’s nose… were beyond pointless. If you had no previous idea who this woman was, you’d just think “Who’s the skinny broad with the orange cheeks?” and never make an effort to tune in, or even go to the website to find out what it’s really about. Come on, HGTV. You owe Dooce more than that.

Why is there a new mascara every week?

Why do the first two Dell guys in the “Lollipop” commercial look like they were just getting dressed together behind that partition?

When did people start doing pre-release commercials for BOOKS?

Oh, and Jamie Lee Curtis? Enough with your “irregularity” already. It’s not a secret code. We all know that means you’re having trouble with your shit.

What commercial is annoying you?