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Nothing changes on New Year’s Day


Last year, I told myself I’d write more.  I didn’t.  Well…I did, but what I wrote was lists of things I need at the store, reminders to schedule the girls’ appointments, dates and phone numbers and random words that didn’t make sense when I found the scrap of paper weeks later.  I wrote lines and lines and lines of code.  I wrote in the margins of the great books I read – so.many.great.books.  I wrote snippets of ideas for blog posts, essays, short stories, novels.  I wrote witty (at least in my mind) Instagram posts.  Sometimes, I even wrote so much there that my words spilled over into the comments section.  Still, nothing I wrote anywhere last year feels meaningful or substantial or worthy.

It’s not that I have nothing to say.  It is, in fact, the opposite.  I have so much to say that I don’t know where to start.  I don’t know how to start.  Well,  that’s not entirely true.  I do know how to start.  Just do it, I tell myself just like Nike tells us all to do.  But, just doing it seems both too difficult and too easy.

Lately, I feel the weight of this world settling on me and I want,  need to put a voice to the things I’m feeling, the things I’m thinking.  But, I don’t want to just add more noise to the constant magpie cacophony that is the internet today.  I want to say thoughtful things that help me process the chaos around me.  At the same time, though, I find myself wanting to write about silly nonsensical things.  Can I do both?  Thoughtful nonsense.  Is that a thing?

So, here I am, promising myself to write more in 2019.  Some things don’t change.  But, I am actually writing.  Maybe some things do change on New Year’s Day.

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