“List for me a few things you would miss.”
And this was maybe the first, infinitesimal moment when I started to become a writer. This is the writer’s first job: to list what’s worth listing. p168
This was the year:
T graduated, got his driver’s license, became a Smirkus camp counselor, turned 18 and went off to college.
We started house hunting.
M and I started exploring the new normal of two.
I finally read Middlemarch
A special, book-filled house in Maine became the ideal spot for a weeklong writer’s retreat.
I photographed my first wedding.
I discovered the joy of riding my stationary bike while listening to podcasts .
The Hamilton soundtrack started to be on constant repeat in the house and in the car.
Writing in my journal and posting a daily picture became a welcome discipline/ritual.
My intentions for this year:
Continue to learn, especially in regard to photography, knitting and maybe a musical instrument.
Tell the small stuff to suck it.
Open my arms to possibilities and if this means I inadvertently happen to let go of some things then—so be it.
Read what I want to read not what I feel pressured to read for my jobs. Right now that means researching every book on San Francisco that I can find.
Add to those 40,000 words in the novel that’s slowly beginning to take shape.
Step by step. Word by word. Line by line. That’s how we move forward in this world.
I’m ready for 2016 and all it has to offer. May there be joy, wonder and more books than my arms can hold.