New Year, Nothing But Me
DISCLAIMER: I had some moderate anguish trying while writing this. Why would it be worth your time to read? Why does this deserve to plop into your inboxes?
But I just wanted to make a start somewhere. So here we are. Know that I celebrate you unsubscribing from any regular email that is a distraction to your life, including this one.
NOW! Read on for the saga of our family holiday travel, some wisdom that I’m trying to adopt, and a little update on Ring of the Axe.
Mancini, Antonio. Resting (1887). Art Institute Chicago. CC0 Public Domain Designation.
Stripped back to nothing
Over the holidays, our whole family got absolutely taken down by some unidentified upper respiratory virus. This bug that started as a sniffle turned into a couple of adult sinus infections and a matching pair of double ear infections for our two boys - Robin (3) and Seamus (1.5).
I was absolutely laid low. After driving down to Atlanta for our highly anticipated annual trip to visit family, I only left the house twice. The first time was to take myself to urgent care. The second time was to take Robin to urgent care, then the pediatric ED, then finally the hospital for overnight observation. Not fun.
Everything else fell away. Sleep, water, and medicine were about all I could manage. And thank goodness we had family there to help us—with undeserved grace and hospitality even though we dragged the plague right into their home.
There was nothing left of me—except whatever remains when you take away everything I typically hang my identity on…
The habits that fell away. I didn’t wash my face, move my body, or write my morning pages. Let’s be honest: I barely brushed my teeth.
The plans that I had to miss. Parks I didn’t get to visit. Dinner reservations that had to be canceled. New Years celebrations that I slept through. A kids scavenger hunt that went unplayed. A suitcase of outfits I never wore.
The rejuvenating activities that I was looking forward to. Audio books that didn’t play. Cozy embroidery I never curled up into the couch to stitch. Warm, sunny days I didn’t step out to enjoy. Fresh, quiet mornings and homemade lattes that I couldn’t bring myself to rise for.
The little things that started to pile up. Middleton Players Theatre work that gathered in my inbox. ROTA pages that were just begging to be read and annotated with my fun 4-colors-in-1 pen.
All this precious time with family was absolutely obliterated. It felt devastating. It felt like I was in mourning.
How do you rise (or stumble up) from the ashes?
As soon as I started to just a little bit better, my mind switched on and started to inventory all the things I needed to do to catch up. To quote Maria Bowler in Making Time: A New Vision for Crafting Life Beyond Productivity, “If you must stop [working, doing], worrying about what you’re not doing is the only other acceptable offering.”
When my worry kicked in, I felt like I was building back from zero and pushing through a mountain of work that I had “fallen behind” on.
But maybe it was also an opportunity. What was worth building back? What should get space on my limited plate? What voices or demands would still get a seat at the table?
And what could I leave behind? To use Bowler’s words, was this “an invitation to make your days reflect what you know to be good, true, and beautiful instead of abiding by inherited rules”?
Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman is another book that I revisit regularly for wisdom on this topic. Who doesn’t need to be reminded about the preciousness of our time? Burkeman says, “At the end of your life, looking back, whatever compelled your attention from moment to moment is simply what your life will have been. So when you pay attention to something you don’t especially value, it’s not an exaggeration to say that you’re paying with your life” (he can sound a little bleak at times--sorry, not sorry).
Given this insight, I immediately want to go into project manager mode to optimize my days to highlight all the things I value. Plan, plan, plan. But Burkeman even warns against that! He has the audacity to point out that “most of our strategies for becoming more productive make things worse, because they’re really just ways of furthering the avoidance. After all, it’s painful to confront how limited your time is, because it means that tough choices are inevitable and that you won’t have time for all you once dreamed you might do.”
Knowing that you can’t keep everything, what remains?
I go back to Maria Bowler to try to answer this question. She writes, “Faced with open time, a maker’s mind can ask, What is alive in me right now? What might make this situation come more alive? Even more, what is already alive in me now that draws my attention?”
While I’m tamping down my urge to come up with a strategic plan to find what comes alive, when I’m greeted by the idea…instead of setting strict New Years Resolutions with goals and milestones, can I set some gentle intentions? This idea seemed to come at me from multiple sources. It was in the air.
So I set some intentions for myself, and here are 2 that seem particularly relevant to this post. (I may share more about my other intentions in a later post—stay tuned if you want to hear more about #s 1, 4, 5, and 6!)
So this year, I intend to…
2. Create more than I consume. I considered making this more ambitious: what would I create? How much? How would I put it out in the world? But there’s a real risk that all that pressure will turn me off of creating anything. I do have specific ambitions, but more so I want to reflect on how I’m spending time and money. Because it just feels better to write this newsletter than it does to scroll social media. It feels better to work on a cozy little craft than it does to impulse shop online.
3. Grow my vibrant creative community. What’s all this, any of it, worth if you can’t share it? Even though it makes me nervous and embarrassed, I want to put myself out there with people who are also creating. I want to listen to them, respond to them, engage with them, support them.
Unless it’s not crystal clear: YOU are that creative community. Whether you’re a writer, a reader or book club member, a performer, a cross stitcher, or someone who just wants to create a meaningful life and relationships around you…I consider you part of my coterie of creatives.
And I couldn’t ask for better company!
So I want to know: Have you set any intentions for this year? If all your habits and expectations fell away, what would you want to build back? And tell me what you’re creating!
Ring of the Axe: Re-reading the first draft
Now, what you might have really come here for: a status up date on Ring of the Axe. I’ve gone back to read & critique 36% of my first draft. I hope to pick up the pace with that process now that the holidays are over and I’m feeling well. As I re-read it, I’m overall happy and excited to keep improving it. You know, I was going to say more about the specifics (no spoilers, promise)…but I think I’ll save that for another update :)
