Hello from the Writing Attic! A very snowy writing attic too! I hope you all are staying warm and cozy and dumping any bosses off your backs that are asking you to drive in this madness. In New Years past, I have usually constructed a list of new goals and writerly things I want to accomplish and I make up a little round robin of all the things I did the year before to see how my writing career is shaping up. But I have a new resolution for this New Year: no more numbers. No more numbers means I’m giving up the counting game in terms of goal-setting, at least for this year. Usually, I say I want to read at least 100 books, submit at least # of pieces, receive at least 100 rejections, etc. If you’re exhausted reading that, honestly so tf am I. I’ve spent the past several years wrapped up in my own personal numbers and lists game. Partly an obsessive-compulsive streak, majorly a way to deal with anxiety, setting number goals and making and crossing things off lists has kept me straight in my head. It’s also kept me from thinking too hard about anything, good or bad. There’s no time to get into the weeds of whether or not my work is saying anything important because I need to make that submission goal. No time to re-read a really good book when I need to read 99 others. No time to sit and let my mind wonder when I’ve got 10,000 steps to step and a slew of unplayed podcasts. No time to wonder if I’m spending my time well if I’m spending it scrolling for followers and likes and retweets and comments. Brene Brown talks about how there are two types of ways people handle critical, anxious times—the over-functioners and the under-functioners. The under-functioners hide under a blanket until the chaos passes. The over-functioners hide under a blanket of activity until the chaos passes. They get moving and stay moving without ever looking at what they’re moving toward. You can guess which one I am. In 2021, I finally over-functioned myself into a collapse. One day this fall, I looked around and realized I had no idea how I ended up with an inbox full of emails for jobs I didn’t care to do. I had read about 70 books and couldn’t recall a single impactful one. I had bylines, boy did I have bylines, but only a few of them were really meaningful. I was a hamster on a wheel (except replace the wheel with a laptop.) So for 2022, I’m opting out. No more numbers. No more auto-pilot. All intention, all joy. Now let’s gossip.
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