Happy Anniversary to me

and to us . . .

You guys.

I’ve been at this over 2 years. Since the end of March 2021, I have been writing and posting an essay on this site. There have been a couple of times when I missed a week or pulled out an old essay, but the bulk of my posts for the last two years have been original essays. Who knew I could do that?

Not me. For as long as I’ve been able to notice, I have realized that I barely have the attention span to make an entire batch of pancakes much less commit to over a year of weekly writing. When I make pancakes, more often than not, right after I pour and scrape the last of the batter onto the griddle, my attention turns to butter, syrup, eating and cleaning and those last four cakes usually burn. How is it possible that I’ve been able to stick to a writing regimen for this long? It’s a mystery even for me.

I’ve rarely been able to summon the—oh what’s the word? The one that begins with a D? Distribution? Destination? Oh…discipline. That’s the one. I’ve never been able to effectively employ personal discipline for anything. I get things done, but that’s more an outcome of my tendency to be slightly compulsive about getting things right. I can rationalize away almost any regular task or responsibility easier than I can forget where I put my glasses. I have a rowing machine IN MY HOUSE and I still can’t get on that thing regularly. But here I sit, at this moment, writing my original essay so I can post it within my (unquestionably loose) goal of “once a week.”

I’ll be honest, though. This week tested me. A combination of worry, fatigue, frustration and maybe a teeny dose of unrelenting cold and gray weather led me to declare to Angelo that I was done with this “stupid writing thing.” Of course, once declared—naturally—the Universe butted in. As annoying as the Universe can be, it also helpfully shoved two reminders under my nose. The first one was an interview I heard on Fresh Air with Clancy Martin. He was describing the existentialist philosophers’ take on life—actually it was more about death—but it was the dealing-with-life aspect that interested me. He said that Albert Camus’ view was that life is suffering and meaningless anyway so stick with it out of stubbornness. Stand up to it, be tougher than life. Which is kind of the conclusion I got to all on my own in a recent essay. But it was nice to be affirmed by a renowned philosopher.

Then, a random email from a writing student arrived to shore up my quaky resolve. She wrote to let me know she had begun reading Joan Didion (I often refer to her in my writing and my teaching.) She came across some article by a guy in Tennessee who had actually once corresponded with Didion years ago. In his piece, he shared  the advice to writers he got from her; in essence it said: It's the writing that's important, not the publishing. Hmm. Right.

Last year I observed this same milestone. Last year, I had “50 essays and approximately 38,000 words give or take a paragraph and not including a couple of repeats I dragged out and dusted off. It’s practically a whole book!” And now, here we are a year later and my intention is to keep at it. And I say “we” because you should know my commitment is largely fueled by your support. It’s our anniversary because—and not to get all mushy about this—but you readers are the wind beneath my wings. I probably wouldn’t have kept going had it not been for your little hearts and comments and subscriptions. I’ve always said I’d write even if nobody ever read my work. But it's nice to know someone does.

I just wish I could share that bottle of Prosecco with you.