Postmark 26-005
From: Somewhere between caregiving, burnout, a neglected blog and a rude internet.
Population: One email-list builder and semi-professional plate spinner. One in the same.
Today’s Forecast: Heavy pumpkin spice jet stream winds blowing in scattered showers of “What the hell am I doing?”
Minor Victories and Other Misadventures
I didn’t flee to an uncharted island.
But Nusa Dua Beach in Bali has me on speed dial. I take all of its calls.
After 3½ years of debilitating pain, my husband finally had the second spinal surgery needed to fix a horribly botched first one.
My caretaking duties amped up another notch.
Then my brain checked out.
My husband took my face in his hands and asked: “When was the last time you dreamed while sleeping?” I didn’t remember.
I only remembered the nightmare the night before, waking up terrified, convinced there was something down the dark hallway.
I omitted what I saw in the nightmare, save that for another time, another day.
He shook his head. “Only dreams count.” Ouch.
What Punched Me in the Face
Meanwhile, the internet apparently decided it could function without my guidance and scintillating presence.
Namecheap’s Phoenix location decided air conditioning was optional. I got a 503 error trying to upload a blog post, an absolute digital tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
My first thought:
“Hold on here. I did not pay by check.”
Then I applied to become a Namecheap affiliate. They rejected me within hours.
Bless you, Namecheap, for not keeping me in suspense.
The blog wasn’t getting fed. No new email promotion. No new content.
AWeber, however, gets Employee of the Month. It showed up. It did its job. Asked no questions.
The internet survived without me. Surprisingly, the internet has no feelings. I’ve checked. I’ve recommended sensitivity training for it and have no idea why it’s ghosting me.
Rude.
No search party. LinkedIn continued being a dumpster fire of corporate life coaches posing in polyester sport coats and ignoring me.
A Lesson Worth Stealing
Pay attention, because I’m about to drop a piece of wisdom so profound it should cost you $2,000 in a masterclass:
Consistency doesn’t mean doing the thing every single day.
Sometimes it means building something that survives the days when you’re not.
Someone you love will need you. Something will melt. You’ll burn out.
And sometimes the greatest accomplishment of the week is defrosting chicken thighs and helping someone you love get out of bed and put on their socks because they can’t bend over yet.
That’s being consistently human.
That’s why I’m building something I own. Something reliable that I control, that doesn’t collapse because life happened.
Wish You Were Here
The blog has been fed. The chicken thighs were tasty. I’m back at kettlebell class.
The email list is getting attention. And I’m dreaming again.
The Edge is about saying to life: Hit me with your best 98-mile-an-hour slap shot. I may go to the bench for a shift.
But I’m coming back on the next shift.
We’re all making this up as we go. That’s what makes it so fun and infuriatingly weird.
P.S. If life currently has you pinned to the mat, hit Comment and confess your sins. I might actually read it, assuming Namecheap keeps the air conditioning on long enough for me to check my inbox.
Ready for What’s Next?
Building an online business is messier and a whole lot funnier than the gurus dare let on. When there’s something worth sharing, you’ll get a Postcard from The Edge.
Expect real experiments.
Painful mistakes.
Occasional technical disasters.
Frequent face plants. Mostly mine.
The Edge isn’t a place. It’s where comfort taps out.
Where certainty nose dives off a cliff. And technology has a personal grudge against you.
Businesses aren’t built at The Edge. You are.
