When the calendar clicked over last night, I was firmly in dreamland. There are very few things that are worth my deliberately staying up until midnight these days, and they’re usually related to travel or crisis — everything else can wait for morning.
It’s a beautiful day here. The west coast is pretty much the only place in the lower 48 that isn’t below freezing, and the sky is a perfect, cloudless blue. If we’re lucky, it’ll stay clear long enough to see tonight’s full moon.
Tomorrow I return to work after two weeks off. I’ve needed some time to not be juggling all the various pieces of my life, and while there were still a few doctor’s appointments and we had people over twice, the bulk of our time has been spent reading books, petting the cats, and slowly catching up on some basic household tasks. While I’d like even more time, I’m ready to jump back in.
If 2017 was the year of healing, for both of us, 2018 is the year to return to life-giving routine. In addition to figuring out what worked for each of us in terms of our various heath conditions, 2017 was all about the basics: food, meds, sleep. This year, I want to add meditation, writing, and photography. I want it to be the year I start engaging the routines that will let me build towards the work that matters to me and that, in the process, feed me deeply.
I have a challenging relationship with routines. In some ways, I’m incredibly routinized: I get up at the same time, make the same breakfast, eat lunch at the same time unless meetings get scheduled over it, eat dinner around the same time, head to bed around the same time. This has been helpful for Catharine, who is not naturally this way; she can piggy-back on mine to keep herself on track with the food, sleep, and meds that keep her stable.
But when it comes to actively choosing to do something every day, I’m much less successful. Sometimes it’s boredom, sometimes it’s rebellion, sometimes it’s choosing a goal I think I should care about but don’t, and sometimes I straight up forget and then my perfectionism is like, oh well, we fucked it up, so everything is ruined and there’s no point. Often, my own goals get prioritized behind everything else, and there’s nothing in me left for them — no time, no energy, no willpower, no creativity.
We often each choose a word at the beginning of the year to be a touchstone, and for that reason, and so many more, my word for 2018 is me.
So hello, 2018. Welcome. Here’s hoping you continue the growth 2017 brought us personally. And here’s hoping that you are the year we are collectively able to rise up and stem the tide of fascism, oppression, and ongoing terror.