Melancholy. That’s how I began December. With melancholy and a whisper of Anne from Anne of Green Gables. With sighs and many words for introspection and flair for drama. I’ve been going for walks along the river and melancholia settles on my shoulders like the morning mist over the water…I’m not kidding. It’s enough to make you shiver or gag, right? I’ve lost my ability, a honed skill really, to shop. The other day I picked up a pair of ridiculously cute shoes on sale (half price!) and my eyes glazed over as they dangled in front of me. I dropped the shoes in defeat, shuffled out of the store and mumbled a goodbye to the earnest salesgirl. I let down both of us that day. This could be a sign of the end of days, or I’m in trouble and I need to snap out of it.
Consumed. I’ve been consumed this past year with writing, revising, and making this book happen. Truthfully, I’m still consumed. Now I’m just consumed with waiting and insecurity. I’ve sent out material and I’m at the mercy of others. When asked about the book, I want to tell people there is progress, there is news! There has been some progress, a trickle of potential, but I’m still waiting. I should feel satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment at the writing of it all, the work of it all. But all I feel is what now, what’s next? While people start their new year off with fireworks and resolutions I start mine with emptiness, with need. (I told you I’m melancholy.)
I’m empty and rather than look at it as depressing I can look at this gaping hole as beginning anew. I get to build. I get to add. I get to fulfill need.
New year, new goals. I can’t bring myself to resolutions, but I thought I could pick a word for this year. Something to live up to or live by. A star to beckon me. While I like plans I don’t like to be too restricted or contained. And a plan for the entire year is too lofty and unattainable for me. I like options and I like to change my mind. So, a word.
Last year hinted at redemption. Maybe it will continue. Scott and I selling our house so fast and moving into something new, dredging up the past to write a memoir…maybe there will be more deliverance. It could be a year for waiting. I want something more, though. I need a word with substance and traction. Something I can sink into.
Belief. Meaning: acceptance, assurance, conclusion, confidence, faith, and fancy. I’m a little in love with all of those words.
I’m going to believe in good. In good news. In the dream I had a few nights ago where I held my book in my hands. In not submitting to the inevitable – to the worst case scenario – to the pessimist. Belief in more for my family and me, in plans and dreams working out after all.
This is my eight year old daughter, Annie. This is how I want my heart to be.
Photo taken by my friend, the lovely and gifted Anastasia Chomlack