Like I said, you guys: I obviously have no time to be writing for 31 days this year. But I keep having the sneaking suspicion I might need to devote myself to the practice of gratitude, a la 1000 Gifts. To be reminded of all the beauty in my life, even when sprinkles have lodged themselves into every crack in our hardwood floors. When Caden has night terrors while Isaiah eats all night long and I sleep not at all. While we watch helpless as kiddos get evicted, as boys end up in prison, and teenage girls take care of their babies.
Somehow, I think, I need to remember how to find the gifts in the darkest places. To look for the beauty in each day. But if I'm honest, I'm not really sure what this will look like. I mean, mostly because I've planned or thought about it not-at-all. But last year I only wrote for fifteen days, so I cant do much worse than that. I mean I can, obviously, and I very well might.
So if you care to join me, I'm going to try and write every day this month. Anne Lamott says to set the timer for 30 minutes and write: butt in chair. I'm not promising much, but I can promise that I will do my very best to show up and to find the pretty even in the gritty (because that's my favorite kind of pretty, actually).
Sunshine and Libraries
Less Gritty and More Ordinary
The Upward Mobility of a Neighborhood
Fiction to Keep You Busy for a Long Time
An Undivided Life
Sunsets and Good Reads