I got sick right after Thanksgiving this year with a horrible cold that knocked me out. Not being able to do much aside from sitting on the couch, I started watching The Leftovers on Max. I picked the show because I’m a Carrie Coon fan and she happened to post something about it on Instagram just when I needed it. I like shows that don’t drag on and with only 3 seasons, I thought perfect.

I’ve had a website for a long time but my site was just to have some sort of online presence. It made no real sense so in October 2024, just as it renewed, I decided it was time to update it, create a newsletter, build something away from social media. I’ve never been a fan or comfortable posting much and in recent years, Instagram has become a place where I just try and share opportunities, classes, wins of other writers I admire. Substack felt claustrophobic to me. I follow and subscribe to several newsletters there, but it didn’t feel like the right fit for me. You can also look up / Google all of the issues with Substack as a platform. Plenty was written about it a year ago or so, but it didn’t seem to deter folks. (Which is fine! Everything is a shitshow.)

In December 2016, Vanessa Mártir started the #52essays2017 challenge. The challenge was to write an essay a week. Keeping it public or private was optional, but the point was to write, to be consistent, to dig. Hundreds of folks signed up, a Facebook group was formed (which I just checked and has just under 600 members), and everyone was sharing their writing. On January 1, 2017, I created a blog called redefining happiness on Wordpress and posted my first essay. I kept it public, shared in the group! I believe I posted a total of 4, maybe 5 times and by week seven or 8, I knew I was done. By all accounts, this call was a massive success and writer Stacie Evans kept it going after 2017 forming a Facebook group called #52Essays Next Wave. I joined her too and swore I’d try again.

The Leftovers consists of 28 episodes and at 50-70 minutes an episode, that’s a decent amount of television. On January 28, 2025, I am on the last episode. But, I have yet to publish my site, yet to tell anyone about my newsletter, and yesterday I realized I got nervous about starting this thing.

I refuse to watch the last episode until I finish this post, until I publish my site.

When I first set out to update every little thing, I tried my best to get as much done as possible before the holidays. I went away for Christmas and New Years proud of how much I had accomplished. But the writing part? Writing is hard. Yesterday, after going back and forth with a friend about applying to residencies and looking for grants and my god finding the time to revise, I told her we’re all a little insane for doing this shit. And yet, I can’t imagine NOT doing this. It’s been eight years since that first little failed blog. Eight. Years. How the hell did that happen?

I have wanted to give up so many times. There are so many moments where I rather watch a good show or an old comfort episode from Modern Family than sit down and write, which requires a whole lot of thinking and feeling.

I’m posting this today because I intentionally woke up late and decided I needed to do this. Starting on January 21, I’ve been up for the Ungodly Hour Writing Club: Weekday Write-in with Sara Lippmann. I’ve been up Monday-Friday, from 5:30am-6:30am logged on, a quiet practice in a virtual room with other writers doing the same thing. I signed up because it’s temporary (it ends February 14) and I was looking for something to jumpstart a routine, to remind me of what has and hasn’t worked for me in the past.

Yesterday was not an easy day, especially emotionally. By 1Pm, I was done. It had officially been a long day. I have a full time job and though right now I’m lucky I can work from home, things need to get done. I kept pushing certain feelings aside. At some point in the afternoon, I grabbed the dog to go on a quick hike. It snowed here recently, I knew the trails might be slippery, but I wasn’t thinking clearly, threw on the wrong pair of hiking shoes with a low ankle instead of my snow boots. I left because I could feel my body tremble; I had made a painful discovery while writing and sobbed in my car the whole way there.

The point isn’t the discovery. The point is that nothing is perfect. There is no perfect time. There is no perfect anything. Especially not now. When I got back home from my hike, my left forearm started to hurt really badly. It became difficult to type and I couldn’t ignore the physical pain. So I woke up today and decided I needed rest instead of being up at 5:30am. And that’s okay. I take care of myself today, post this imperfect introduction, and log back in tomorrow morning to keep writing.