right.

I’m standing in the kitchen - half in tree pose, if you must know. My computer is perched at the corner of our tiny, wobbly butcher’s block island. Jacob was held up in a meeting, so I’m holding up dinner.

It’s not the right kind of moment to write. My brain is still full of work, even though I’ve been home for two hours. The dinner is half cooked, so I’m keeping one eye, just the corner of it, on the stove. I feel harried, rushed, unsettled.

But I am here, charging in like a wild bull, no matter what lies ahead and no matter what kind of mess I make getting there.

About a month ago, I read an entire book in an evening. It was The Maytrees by Annie Dillard. I’ve read it before and I already know I love it. But I was getting ready to loan it to a friend, and that evening, as I cracked open the first page just-because I had such an overwhelming urge to read it, straight through, that I did it. I stayed up until 2am in the morning, letting my heart break with all the loss and life and forgiveness and Cape Cod found in those pages. Read it, please.

briefly.

It has been raining for days here. Sometimes the rain gives me melancholy, but not in an uncomfortable way. Rainy days make for an honest reckoning. They are the right time to search for the sadness of the world and to find your piece of hope, whatever that might be.

I am at a loss.
I am inside my own head.
I am distracted.
I am exhausted.

Lists are a good place to start. Try starting. That’s always the right idea.

On gray days (or nights, as it were), I listen to this song and this song. They sound just right with rain falling against the windows.

here we are.

It is easy to let fear build you a cage and it is easy to think that the bars of that cage are real. They are not. This year, I choose to live without fear.

1-strength train regularly
2-read at least one book in a day (a marathon reading session)
3-start buying ethically made investment clothing
4-become informed on the production of chocolate and coffee
5-watch one documentary each month
6-blog regularly (and define what that means for me) (like I do every year)
7-knit a sweater (just do it!)
8-take a spin class
9-stop nitpicking, nagging, and expecting perfection from others
10-cut back on TV
11-go on urban hikes
12-run a half marathon
13-send birthday cards
14-write some fiction
15-make handmade gifts
16-go to book readings and other literary events in my city
17-call people more often
18-make one writer friend
19-go camping in Shenandoah National Park
20-submit one essay somewhere anywhere
21-re-conquer my fear of city biking (on my new bike)
22-learn to use our fancy camera and start taking pictures
23-buy more local produce via the farmer’s market or a CSA
24-use less plastic (especially: produce bags, ziploc bags, and saran wrap)
25-practice positive self-talk
26-eliminate most/all bad chemicals that I put on my body
27-take a real vacation/trip somewhere with Jake (other than visiting family)
28-put compassion and love into the world

the ugly fish.

get to the bottom of it.

The universe rolls along and smacks me upside the head when I refuse to learn the lessons or heed the reminders that it has in store for me.

I hear my voice in other people’s voices.

Keep going and get to the bottom of it.

I read other blogs or essays, other things that have been written, and often find myself thinking, That’s what I want to write like. That’s my real voice. I’ve had enough of the dismal, dreary, drizzly rain writing that comes out of me. Enough of the gray day ennui and oh-my-god too much introspection for my own good. I want to be the voice of that goofy person. Or that passionate person. Or that confident person.

Do you know what I mean? I want my writing to be true in the sense that it is truly me. And here’s where the trouble brews, I think. I am so much not one voice. Not only am I changeable, but I find myself molding into the shape of others around me. There is such a very small number of people in this world with whom I am the first me, the unfiltered-as-I-am me. I keep that true self close and somewhat locked up.

The reality of being a human being, someone self-aware and awake to life, is that the stereotypes and neat descriptions don’t mean much. We are each a living contradiction wrapped up in a body and mind and feelings.