Literary playground of dreams

Gratitude for 2+ years

It’s been over two years since I started writing here and I don’t have huge life changes to report. I suppose it’s my stability that’s new: this is the longest I’ve stayed at a job, the longest I’ve lived in one place. It’s the first time I’ve owned a house, thus it’s the first time I’ve painted and ripped out carpet and reimagined a space. It’s also the longest I’ve sustained a creative project, i.e., this newsletter.

But still, no major changes. I hope to accomplish a lot both personally and creatively these next few years. It’s scary not knowing if I will.

In the beginning of June, I committed to a 40-day gratitude project. Each morning I wrote a note that began with “Today I am grateful that…” The point of the project is to list things that vex you in addition to things that bring you joy.

My answers surprised me. Gratitude requires attention. I became more aware of what preoccupies me and what things, both good and bad, I listed day after day. I noticed small shifts I want to make.

This stability is foreign. It’s uncomfortable and prompts me to ask whether, if I’m not making BIG LIFE CHANGES, I am wasting precious time. Part of the anxiety stems from being a 30-something woman who might want to have a child. It’s hard not to speed ahead and do the math and plan seven steps in advance, as I wrote about last winter.

Gratitude teaches us to sit and observe what’s here. Just because I’m in a fallow season doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the dormancy. This time is important. I don’t know what seeds will grow. All I can do is pay attention and be honest about the truths that emerge, even if I would prefer they stay buried. Hiding is always easier.

I still feel the urge to hide and am still hard on myself when I do. I learned to camouflage so young that for a while it was the only self I knew. I’m grateful for this literary container. It seems to demand, and reward, the truth.

Over two years later, I have no plans to stop. If anything, it feels like I’ve barely started. The work is beginning to replace my tendency to hide. It’s taught me what it’s like to expand instead of shrink—a lesson I try to apply elsewhere in life too.

Where did my energy go before? Some of it went to partying. I used to work so hard to be liked. Camouflage is an art—I would charm and beguile through conversation and looks instead of through written work. But most of this energy lay dormant, condensed deep in my body. I’ve noticed how, in letting the words out, my body has softened. I’m holding less tension. And while it’s unfamiliar to have pillows where once there was steel, I’ve been told it’s appealing. I’m more human now, and it shows.

This is a laboratory, a playground, a place to engage and learn. I’ve interacted with my literary heroes on here. People whose books line my shelves and whose words lead me through the dark. For all of its noise, I’ve found great things on this platform. Beauty and play, depth and joy.

Thank you for making space for me to share, and cheers to all that will come.