2019 has come to a close — some would say finally. I didn’t have a bad 2019, except for the ways that all progressive, liberal people who believe in human rights and the worth and dignity of all persons had.
I’m not going to say much about that except that, while I am still and will always be interrogating and unlearning white supremacy, I am firmly on the side of the oppressed, not the powerful. I can’t always do everything I’d like to on that front — no one wants me in a march, not with my health issues — but I do the small things I can.
Personally, 2019 was a watershed year. Catharine and I bought a house and moved in, our first owned-together house in fifteen years of marriage. Researchers talk about the hedonic treadmill, how things we think will make us happy become normalized and are no longer a source of happiness. And, well, this house has been the opposite of that. We are constantly noticing how happy this house makes us, which of course means we chose right. We still have things to figure out, like what needs to be maintained on what schedule, how we can get that done with our collective limitations, etc., but I feel rooted and happy in this new space.
Professionally, the day job transformed into something that was even a better fit for me than the previous role had been, and that’s saying something. Basically, give me systems to create and I’m a happy girl.
Creatively, I started writing this year. Started really writing this year. I participated in and won NaNoWriMo, and I wrote nearly 100k words of fiction. I’ve got the second draft of my first mystery novel plotted out and ideas for three more in the series. There’s also a romance series I want to do, but one thing at at time.
Health-wise, things are … okay. They aren’t great, but comparatively speaking, they’re okay. I’m able to work, write, and kind of keep up with the household. Honestly, when I’m not traveling and there aren’t holidays, I can just about take care of everything, but it’s amazing how little it takes to push things out of balance. The task, as always, is to triage — and I’m determined not to triage my writing out of the picture. That’s been part of my pattern for far too long, and I’m glad to shift it.
2019, although endlessly heartbreaking, was also deeply nourishing. I took regular trips to the coast with a friend, and even though he and his husband have now moved to Michigan, we’re doing virtual dates that still get me to the ocean. Our elderstatescat, now nearing 18, is as feisty and alive as ever. We have this beautiful house that feels like home. We’re working on cooking more. I’m grateful.
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