Hey, y’all. Mandy, here. (I’m from the south. I say y’all and I’m going to use it here, too.)

I’m staring down a big ol’ elephant and I’m about to tell y’all all about it. All y’all. Every last one of you.

You know that old saying that the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time? Well, I’d like to make an amendment. A bite only advances the cause of eating an elephant if you chew, swallow, and move on to the next bite. Otherwise you’re just gnawing the same, old, well-chewed bite for a lifetime.

I’ve maintained a personal blog for more than 10 years, keeping something of a personal online journal for friends and family to keep up with our family. It’s been a safe place for me, and I consider it a treasure trove of emotions and memories from a precious season in my life, which is why I have carried it far past the personal blogging trend that birthed it. As long as I’ve kept that blog, I’ve dreamed of writing something more. Someday, I would say. Someday I’ll write a book. Someday I’ll be published elsewhere. Someday I’ll figure out how to do more than what I’m currently doing. But here’s the thing, I was looking at writing the way I used to look at the piano– the piano that I never learned to play. For years there was a little piece of my mind that believed, because I have a smidge of musical experience in my pocket, I should be able to sit down and play the piano. Y’all, I really thought that if I sat down at a piano and put my fingers on the keys, beautiful music would magically come out. I don’t think I have to tell you how that went, but I will anyway. I didn’t know how to play the piano, beautiful music did not magically flow from my fingertips, and, since I’ve taken exactly zero steps to change that, I still cannot play the piano.

Last year I decided that I wanted to be better at writing than I am at the piano, which is to say, I realized that I was never going to become a writer unless I actively started writing. (Earth shattering, I know.) I accepted writing as my elephant and I embraced the fact that someday would never arrive unless I made someday today.

I set a goal for myself and I started writing my book. A memoir is something that my heart has long desired to write, but I wasn’t certain if it would be just for me or if I intended it for an audience. It felt good to start the thing that I had only spoken of for years, but it’s one thing to write something that nobody else is reading yet. It’s a whole other, big, scary elephant to write things and immediately put them out in the world, but my desire to write spurred me to create a new space to represent myself and grow. Enter, Happy Like This.

Putting myself out there for others to see and presenting my writing for others to read feels like taking a job as a naked cowgirl in Times Square. Meaning, of course, that I feel absurdly exposed and sometimes ridiculous, and I’m pretty sure everybody is looking but nobody is taking me seriously. (No offense, naked cowgirls, I’m sure you’re lovely humans.)

I’ve been gnawing the same personal blog bite of writing for a decade—afraid to move forward. What if I can’t do it? What if I put myself out there and I look like a fool? What if I can do it once, but I can’t do it again? Wouldn’t it just be safer to gnaw on this same old bite? Maybe, but I’m hungry for more.

Now I’ve got this simple little website and the occasional post to share with you all. Each post I’ve shared so far has been sincere, but several have also been a bit contrived as I try my hardest to do things “right”. Whatever that means.

This space is supposed to represent who I am as a writer and that’s been a hard thing for me to pin down. I’m learning what feels true to me and what doesn’t. Moving forward in this space you will find writing about life from a sincere, raw, occasionally sappy, Jesus loving, sometimes mouthy, genuinely happy, flawed, encouraging, and honest woman. Me. That’s who I am. That’s how I write. I’m writing for you and I’m so happy you’re here.

Writing is my elephant. As I grow this blog, I am also taking opportunities to guest post for other blogs, do freelance content writing, and I’m still typing away at that memoir that started it all. My elephant is big and I’m loving it. Next bite, please.

I want to engage with you, friend, as we struggle, celebrate, and grow together. I’m pleading with you (you know, endearingly and not at all in a desperate, clingy ex-girlfriend sort of way) for you to come along with me. What is your elephant? What does your heart crave? What is your soul thirsty for? Are you still gnawing on that first bite? Are you hungry for more? How can I help you take the next bite?

Also, don’t eat an actual elephant. You know that’s bad, right?