83 and counting

I blew it.  I had intended to write 52 blog entries this year, just as I had done last year. This would have made for a total of 104 entries over two years. Unfortunately, I only made it as far as 83, far short of my goal.  Even this anniversary entry, which should have been published two weeks ago, is behind on its deadline.

So what happened?

I can’t say I was at a loss of ideas.  They are always there, churning away at the back of my brain, popping out at the most inconvenient moments. Like in the middle of an important meeting – where I really do need to pay attention, because I’m going to get asked a question and instead of being able to answer, my brain is spinning out on some interstellar orbit, and it’s going to be some thud when it’s forced back to earth again. Or when I am supposed to be paying attention to my French teacher patiently explaining YET AGAIN what a preposition is – hello, is there any grammar at all in there?  Or when my children are asking me to check out their latest cool creation made of Lego or listen to them as they describe how horrible their friends have been to them lately and the world is just totally ending.

I can’t say I did not want to write.  The few times when I did sit down at my computer and bang away at the key board until I had some kind of mangled manuscript in hand felt pretty darn good.  By the time I was finished, I usually felt like I had accomplished a small thing that had meaning – at least to me.  A gift of creation that also provided catharsis.  A tiny space to which I could press my mind’s eye and see something beyond just the paper pushing, the dishes and the laundry piled up, the homework, and the French verbs.

This year, I think it was really about time.  There simply wasn’t enough of it.  There were too many other priorities, each trying to grab a piece of my increasingly pathetic time management.  There was too much work.  Too much school.  Too much homework. Too many activities.

And above it all, I wanted to spend every last possible moment I could with my mom.  Because I knew that once all those moments slipped away, there would never be another one.  Ever again.  Now, all those moments are gone.

Something had to take a back seat to it all.

I don’t have any regrets though. Sometimes I have to accept smaller failures for success in more important things.  I have to play the long game.

The question now is; what does the next year hold for my little digital chapbook?  I don’t know what the future holds – but I can say life certainly isn’t going to get any calmer.  But I’m not giving up just yet either.   I still need a place and a space to spin a story or a poem.   I still have too many things to say.

Just like last year, only time will tell.