Here Comes Winter

 On Christmas morning, after we'd opened our presents, my dad would jokingly say, "Christmas is over!" We three kids would protest, tell him that we had yet to visit our other set of grandparents for gifts. 

While I have never celebrated Boxing Day (though if I do want to move to the U.K. some day, I should start, right?) or observed all 12 days of Christmas, I should start. Two days - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - simply aren't enough to celebrate the holiday. I always feel a bit melancholy on the day after Christmas. There's such a build-up to it, and then, POOF, it's over. 

It was just the three of us this year - me, my daughter, and my boyfriend. We didn't do anything special - just ate good food, opened presents, and watched Christmas movies. It snowed on Christmas Day and we had a white Christmas which I always love. I received some wonderful gifts, including an action figure Robin Hood from the Disney movie (my daughter gave me the Prince John action figure last year!) and I was happy my daughter and boyfriend enjoyed their gifts from me. That's probably my favorite part of Christmas.

I allowed myself to eat whatever I wanted these past few weeks, not only because it's Christmas, but because my gosh, I didn't need to monitor my food intake after moving and sorting and unboxing for a solid three weeks. But the last sugar cookie is now in my belly, and while we still have some leftovers from Christmas dinner (stuffing! mashed potatoes! ham!), those will be gone in a few days, as well. 

I did manage to walk for 15 minutes on my new walking pad. It will take some getting used to. I'm not sure it has the support I really need because my knees were killing me afterwards. But, that could be my crappy shoes, too, which squeak like I'm walking on a wet floor all the time, so I zipped over to Amazon and ordered me a new pair because let's just keep on adding to the credit card bill, right? 

On Winter and Writing

The beautiful snowfall yesterday beckoned me today, and I went out for a few minutes to snap some pictures. I am so, so fortunate to live in an apartment that looks out onto a woodland area. There's a bubbling creek mere steps away from my patio, birds twitter among the treetops in the morning, and the other day, a fat raccoon just ambled by in broad daylight. I just love it.

I signed up for a winter writing sanctuary hosted by Beth Kempton, and today I did some writing prompts on winter as a warm up for the course. It was rather lovely to think of the aspects of winter I enjoy, and there are many: cuddling under a blanket by the fire with a good book or to watch a movie, the bright lights of Christmas, the snow dusting the trees, the chilly wind blowing outside while I'm toasty warm in my bed...

Of course, there's some things I don't enjoy about winter. February has been a very hard month for me since 2017. That's when I found out my now ex-husband was cheating on me; the next year, my grandmother died in February; and the year after that, my beloved Kathryn, a cat I'd had since 2009, died a tragic, terrible death (she died in my arms - talk about trauma). I barely made it through last February.  I watched a lot of British murder mysteries and didn't do much more than that. Barely got any writing done and just counted myself lucky to wake up each morning. 

I hope this year is different. I hope living in this new apartment, and starting this new life, will make a difference. Of course, traumaversaries don't much care how good you're feeling in life - they have a tendency to make their presence known. But we'll see what happens.

I'm back to editing my novel, and had some new ideas hit me the other night while I was trying to sleep (I actually remembered them in the morning!). I'm starting to incorporate them, and I know they will add depth and nuance to the overall story. 

One thing I really hope to do with this writing sanctuary is to rediscover my joy of writing. I remember those heady days of my youth, when I'd forego attending high school basketball games or going out with friends so I could write. I'd sit at home on a Friday night, writing on my little desk, with a blue pen and lined sheets of paper. I wrote and wrote, and I don't remember it being as hard as it is now. 

Is it because the more you write, the more aware you become of all the story elements you must include? Is it because we are wiser, more jaded, trying to write for an audience and trying to write so no one will leave one-star reviews? I think that's a lot of it. I've always said you should write the first draft with your heart and the second with your head, and that still holds true. But I want to be able to still find joy in the process. Sometimes, I'll sit down and not even want to work on editing the novel because it just seems so overwhelming. Other times, like tonight, I know what my goal is - and I break it into small chunks so it's not as intimidating. Why can't I always do the latter instead of the former? Because I have a squirrel brain, always hopping from one branch to the other, chasing after acorns and other shiny objects instead of focusing on the task at hand. Sometimes I do wonder if I have ADHD - but more likely it's the result of having my brain rewired due to the Internet. Right now, there are six tabs open on my screen, and I've been sorely tempted to check Twitter or Facebook while I've been writing this post. Social media has robbed us of our attention and focus. I've thought about deleting those apps from my phone, but the thing is, I really enjoy interacting with my Twitter friends (if I stay away from the terrible Holocaust deniers and white supremacists on Twitter, it's much more enjoyable - yes, that place is brimming with horrible people). The key is, I suppose, to limit my time on those apps and learn some strategies to keep my squirrel brain from kicking into gear when I need to be writing.

I have a week until I start the new job - and I plan to enjoy ever minute of it.

Settling In

Today was the last day of a job I've had for ten years. It didn't end with me celebrating, or doing a dance, but quietly, with me checking my email to make sure I'd dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's. Found a few outstanding tasks I took care of, and then I closed the email program for good. 

It was a bittersweet moment. But I'm very excited for the new job - it starts Jan. 2.

That means I have an entire 10 days to relax and dive back into my novel.

With the apartment all settled - everything has been moved, unpacked, and put away - I've been trying to take a deep breath and relax. But being on the go for the past month has somehow made it hard to just sit and be. I feel like I need to keep doing something even if there's nothing to do.

I'm sure those feelings will pass, but it has made it harder to become fully immersed in my novel. Why, though, do I have this need to immediately jump into a new task instead of resting and recovering? A few reasons, I suppose. One, I'm anxious to return to my writing as I've had exactly ZERO time, energy, and mental capacity for it over the past month. Two, society's conditioned me to believe I need to be productive all the damn time. Devon discussed this in one of her posts the other day, and I couldn't agree more. I have been productive - so much so that I probably put my health at risk - and now my body is telling me to slow down. My brain, however, doesn't want to listen. But it's gonna have to!

I still need to get through Christmas. I have presents to wrap, but I've decided not to do any baking this year. Instead, I bought some cookies from the grocery store bakery as well as some Christmas candy. I have been gorging on both, and damn it, I am not going to feel guilty for it. I ordered a new walking pad (having no room for my old treadmill in the apartment) and that will arrive in a few days. I'm looking forward to getting back to my exercise. 

The new year will definitely feel like a fresh start in so many ways: new apartment, new job, new dedication to creating a different life! I want to focus on ME now, and that means focusing on my health, dropping some weight (for health reasons, but also because I feel better when I don't carry an extra 20 lbs), reading and writing more, and trying to finally break some bad habits. One day at a time!

This was a big project - part of my Snoopy collection!

Whew! In many ways, I feel like I haven't been able to take a breath since I returned from Scotland. Now's my chance, and I need to take it. 

Sheer Happiness

Tonight, I sang in the shower. This is not a common occurrence. I've cried in the shower more than once, but I don't often sing. 

I did tonight.

Why? Because I did it. 

The move is over. My new apartment is settled, save for a few things to hang up, and it is already home. I'm filled with peace and contentment and something else: pride. I am so damn proud of myself for having the courage to take this step to move into my own place, to reclaim my life, to reclaim me. 

I haven't felt like this in a long, long time. And that means all of it - the heartache, the crying, the packing and purging and moving, the financial hit, the literal pain my body has experience, the exhaustion - it's all been worth it. It also means this was the absolute right thing to do.

At one point, in the thick of packing and lifting and carrying box after box, of making the various trips between the old place and the new, I thought, "Oh, it would be so much easier to just stay put." But then I stopped myself. "No," I thought. "it would be so much harder to stay put. Why? Because I'd be neglecting my truth, neglecting what my heart has been shouting at me for the last six months." The move and all it entailed was a temporary inconvenience. I kept my eye on the prize, and now here I lay in bed, my cat cozied up beside me, a classic movie playing on my tv, soft lights casting warmth and security. My bedroom also contains my office, and it's a corner that reflects who I am in every piece displayed on my desk and wall: the Snoopy knickknacks, the pictures of my daughter and my family, the stuffed foxes, the diploma for my MA in history, the Prince John figurine from Disney's Robin Hood (my all time favorite Robin Hood!), the Mozart watch I proudly wore in high school, the framed photo of Pedro Pascal, and so much more.

The rest of my apartment is also proudly me. My living room contains an entire wall of bookshelves, and a retro radio sits on my fireplace. I have a little vintage spot dedicated to my grandparents: on an old desk sits a 1940s typewriter, lamp, and fan, and pictures of my grandparents from when they were dating up to their 50th wedding anniversary. My Snoopy collection will soon be displayed in a hutch, and I also have some Snoopy pieces on top of my kitchen cabinets. Antique plates hang on the wall underneath the cabinets, giving the modern space more of an English cottage look.

And since it's Christmas, I also put up some Christmas decorations, though I didn't go all out like I usually do. I put up two Snoopy Christmas trees and will do a third. I also did the regular Christmas tree with all the ornaments from my childhood, my daughter's childhood, places I've traveled, and so much more. 

Tonight, I feel like I can breathe again. I'm wrapping up projects at my current job, and I will begin my new job on January 2. I'm excited and nervous, but absolutely ready. I said goodbye to my coworkers last week and it was bittersweet - but as many are friends, I will continue to stay in touch with them. 

And my writing? Oh, I can't wait to get back to it. Writing this blog post is a way of easing me back in. I haven't looked at my novel since Thanksgiving - I've simply not had the time. Now that the move is done, and the apartment mostly settled, I can focus on it again. Of course, there's always that resistance when it comes to returning to a project you've not looked at in ages...but I will overcome it!

My friends, the first two steps of creating a new life have been accomplished: a new place to live, and a new job. 

I. Did. It.