It’s that time of year again! Time to careen into January full of gusto and resolve. So what if we sputter halfway into February. That’s a whole month (and one twelfth of a year) of progress. That has to be worth something!
It seems like just yesterday I was writing last years new years blog, “Resolutions” Don’t Work. I get really excited about this. My readers, all five of them, know that New Years is one of my favorite holidays.
Once, I saw something on HONY (for those of you that are not up on HONY, I’m obsessed with him. It stands for Humans of New York and this photojournalist, Brandon Stanton, walks the streets and takes people’s pictures, telling little bits of their conversation. I’ve followed him for years and its always poignant and powerful and I feel he miraculously reveals a bit of soul in two or three lines of conversation. Readers, all five of you, follow him! You’ll thank me.)
So back to my point… Years ago, there was a post of a woman. She said something like… (Excuse the lack of verbatim. This is how I remember it.)
“I have this theory. We are all given the same amount of time but time is a subjective concept. So if things in our lives are always changing, it feels like we get “more” time.”
I don’t know if this woman will ever have any idea how much this little “theory” has impacted my life.
My life is the poster child for “sameness”. I have been with the same man since I was 19, lived in San Diego since I was 18. I’ve been parenting for a decade and a half. Needless to say, extreme life change is not a common theme in my world.
So for New Years, I aim to change the only thing I’m really willing to, which is me. I’m not talking about getting a new haircut. I reevaluate my self, my hobbies, my goals, how I spend my time, if I’m the person I would look up to yet (spoiler alert, no). I question random things, the reason for a routine, the way I have the kitchen laid out. Enter January and my kids are like, “Didn’t this used to be the fork drawer?” I’m just wild like that. Just trying to eek more time out of life.
With my book being prepped for beta readers’ hands (Lord have mercy), I’m feeling especially frisky. I’m literally overwhelmed by the possible ways I could
squander (ahem) apply my time. I can’t wait to do what writers get to do, which is fall in love with new characters, voices, plots and places. I’m gonna play the field. (This all sounds very sexy, doesn’t it? It’s called rhetoric.)
Pretty soon, if I know me, I’ll be saddled with another ball and chain of a novel and won’t have time for the quick passionate fling of a short story or essay. Then… a couple years of sameness.
In 2018, I’m spending the first part of my year flitting from project to project for a while. (Just a LITTLE while of course because I’ve already started the outline for a new novel.)
Strangely enough, I have no idea what do with with a collection of short stories or essays. Maybe I’ll have to write a book? 🤔