“Every writer has to craft an everyday life,” says Molly Peacock. I love that verb ‘craft.’ Such intentionality. A block of wood remains a block of wood until you bring your carving tools to it.
When my kids were young, I loved nothing more than having a chunk of time to write a letter. We had several friends who’d gone off to do big things with their lives and that gave me people to write to. If I got dinner going early in the day and the kids went down for naps after lunch, I sat and wrote my heart out, and would write until I heard stirrings from their room.
I always write right up to the last minute I have.
I always wish I had just a few more minutes.
Sure, there’d be weeks no letters went out. There’d be teething. There’d be sickness. Days were turned upside down. But when you know you are right where you’re supposed to be, doing exactly what you’re supposed to do, it doesn’t matter, the little blip in your routine. You can let it go, knowing it’s all grist, knowing the first line of your next letter will be, “I would’ve written sooner, but….”.
You write in your head, confident ink will hit paper again soon. And it does. It does. You don’t give up altogether.
Set goals. Expect setbacks. Press on. You carve it out as you go.
Do any of your goals for the new year have anything to do with where your heart lies? Do you even know where it lies?
You can tell where your heart lies by what it’s driven to, what you rush to do when you finally have a little block of time. I hope at least one of your goals has something to do with it.