Christmas is a nice quiet holiday, but the Winter Solstice brings my dreams back to me and New Year's is my favorite Day (that isn't Valentine's Day or my birthday).
I'm intensely grateful for my singleness during late fall and early winter. My mind roams, and I go whole days without changing out of my pajamas. It's a mental and spiritual reboot before the fun of over-thinking what I'll write to myself at the New Year. Also the annual game of not remembering if I should read last year's letter before writing this year's letter, or am I practiced enough at this to know what it is that I actually enjoy reading without the prep time. I'm not quite in a place to know which of the previous letters I don't like reading. Probably it doesn't matter. I ought to read them all anyway. That's why they were written, after all.
(It should be noted that this game is actually far more enjoyable than the games of 2003-2008 :the Did I Even Write One Last Year and Where Are All The Other Letters Hiding, because part of the ritual of the New Year's Letters for several years was that I would write a letter in January, tuck it away somewhere and then hope that some time in November I would find it. Usually I did. But the game got old, so in 2010 I collected them all into a box. 2 years ago I put them in a scrapbook. 18 months ago I decorated all of the pages, so each letter gets its own frame. Games change.)
Seems to me that last year, I tried to outline the thing. Like. A Letter. To Myself. That I will not remember writing until I read it, and even then it's a toss up. I outlined. I found quotes from books, I think. Or did I write a story. Something that needed prep work. There was a draft. And I did, in fact, have anxiety dreams about it. Artists, whew.
This year I have a short list.
Therapy has me thinking again about what it is that I love about writing. So, that's on the list. Also train travel. There's something else. I can't remember what it is. I'll find it eventually.
Train travel. Wrote the beginning of a very short and sweet holiday ensemble romance that tinyletter decided to flag for abuse, so instead of finishing it, I sent it to my friend for her thoughts and will work on it in some other way. It takes place on a train. It makes me happy to imagine.
The week between the holidays is frequently a morass of bloat and leftovers and a house still reeling from days of madness and noise and people and music and the smells of family and history and tradition. I will be eating my holiday meals for another 2 days. PS: the chicken I roasted with lemon slices, olives, onions, garlic, and potatoes was ridiculously good, you're welcome. Also, thank you to my roommate for finding the original recipe because, yes.
I'm taking a break from the noisier bits of the internet for the week. The tradition of a considered and thoughtful letter for myself is important enough.
Please be thoughtful to yourselves. Find your healing silences or noises where you can.
xoxo
Happy Week Between
