Reflections on this Substack:
’Tis the season
It’s December 1! As I’ve written before, I get giddy every time I turn the calendar to a new month—especially December. The dreaded ornamental spider webs and dismembered limbs from Halloween are replaced with clean strings of lights and woodsy holiday scents. I have repeated “let’s get cozy” often enough that it is now one of my two-year-old’s favorite phrases. But the deeper reason I love this time of year is the chance to reflect on the past year and imagine possibilities for the next. When I meet up with friends and family, everyone is a little more open to talking about the things that matter most—my favorite. It’s a season for taking stock.
I thought I’d start here, with this newsletter. Last week, I wrote about life branching each time I take a road that is new to me. This newsletter has branched as well. What started with a focus on uncertainty about motherhood broadened to chronicle a variety of aspects of the creative process and what is stirring for me. I began with interviews and reflections on them, then moved to essays. I’d like to go into 2024 with a solid sense of what is serving me—and hopefully get a sense of what is serving all of you too.
My tendency is to dwell on what’s not working, a short road to self-beat up. But I’ve found that I can trick my brain by making it focus on what IS working. I then learn what isn’t working by implication, and it’s easier to let those things go.
Taking stock for me happens in layers, and I love a good list. Here are the things that first came to mind when I asked myself what is working here in this newsletter:
Posting at all. Although I’ve questioned my “why” many times in the past year, I really like writing these each week. I just do. I don’t dread it even on the busiest weeks.
Posting once a week. Posting once a week feels right to me. That’s about how often I like to read other Substacks. More often, and I can feel inundated. Less often, and I forget what came before.
Posting at the end of the week. I like to write early in the week, run the post through my consummate editor David mid-week, and post late in the week, with grace for myself on the exact time. If what I have written is not feeling right to me by Friday, I’ll post Saturday. Some of my favorite shifts in direction have come on Saturday mornings.
A workshop in play and letting go. David calls this Substack my workshop. It’s a place for me to experiment and play and try things on for size, which means that rigid content borders don’t feel right to me. It’s also a commitment to putting writing out into the world every week. Each time, it gets a little easier to turn down the volume on my harsh internal editor, call it my best for now, and hit post.
A workshop in resilience. Posting these essays feels like a free fall every week. Beyond the occasional thoughtful emails or comments from readers (which really do matter to me), these posts are met with a powerful silence. Scary as it is, this silence serves me. “What other people think of me is none of my business,” David’s step-father likes to say. It’s easy to say but much harder to practice. The silence reminds me that I write to learn about myself and other people, not for a gold star. And on good days, I take that reminder back into my novel writing, law writing, and my daily conversations as well.
It's a first layer. I’m giving myself a December’s worth of permission to hold hands with cozy, ask myself what’s working, and let go of what’s not.
Thanks for sharing these reflections! And congrats on a year of a Substack which is a huge accomplishment in and of itself. I like how you considered how you have grown through the practice and how the silence is a gift!
Silence may be golden (as they say), but we all like gold stars and feedback, no matter how young or old we are! And while I agree that it is none of my business what others think of me (David's step-Dad is one perceptive philosopher!), the dialogue triggered by what I say and write definitely IS of interest to me. I have a feeling that you feel the same. After all, what is the point of sharing one's thoughts with others if not to engage with them in some way? I love reading your thoughts. And while I do not often comment aloud on them, my mind is not silent after reading them!