32 Rhinestones: New Year's Day.

I have a chart. This chart has over 50 habits (most of them small) that I'd like to follow each day, tasks that my ideal self would complete daily. Some of these are basic (Floss once) while some are more involved (Pick up House) or lofty (Do Art). I use a highlighter (often pink glitter) to mark the tasks I've completed for the day. I started the chart last year, and the highest number I got was 37. Not very impressive. 

My mom is also working on some new habits. She read Atomic Habits, and she told me that the book suggested having a visual for each desired habit. Of course, I have the chart, but I liked Mom's idea: keeping a jar with her favorite buttons, one button per healthy choice or good habit. I decided to try that as an extra reinforcement, so I ordered a jar (plastic--not as cool but more Oliver-proof) and took out a great many rhinestones, little ones, in fuchsia, purple, pale pink, and pale green. I'm thinking I may use rhinestone stars for monthly or annual habits like staying within budget or reading the year's Best American volumes. Bruce told me that his word of the year is Habit, which fits nicely with my goals and Mom's goals as well as the word of the year Josh and I are sharing. Bruce wants to focus on holistic happiness. 

I haven't burst into passionate productivity in the new year. This is partly because my medication manager halved my dose of Ritalin (a stimulant) without my input. Before Ritalin, I slept all day, often in a deep depression. I had no energy, drive, or focus. My doctor put me on 20mg of Ritalin twice a day, and my life changed. Suddenly, I could take showers. I could do a load of laundry. I could pick up my son from school. I could unpack the boxes from our move. Apart from Geodon (which keeps the hallucinations away), Ritalin has had the greatest impact on my quality of life. And now, I have only 10mg twice a day. So, I'm sleeping. A lot. Yesterday, I slept until 10:30 and took about five hours' worth of naps. It's unsustainable. Yes, I've had mono, but with mono, I felt too ill to sleep. Now, I'm too flattened to stay awake. 

But enough complaining. New Year's Day was a great day. I didn't do as much as I'd hoped, but I had 32 highlights on my chart. I decided that for a good day, my minimum would be 30. I figure I should be able to follow more than half of the habits I want to maintain or build. But this week, that seems like a lot. My numbers have gone down almost every day, and the break is nearly over. 

Nonetheless, I dropped 32 fuchsia rhinestones in the plastic, half-gallon jar last Monday night. I think we should celebrate the good days especially, so I'll tell you about January 1. 

I woke up around 9 and stayed in bed for a few minutes. I had had a strange dream, but not a bad one. When I went downstairs, Josh told me to look in the fridge. I found a large McDonald's Dr. Pepper AND a Venti iced peppermint mocha, complete with chocolate shavings! Brilliant! I had ended the previous year and begun the current year wearing my black Strand hoodie. I started a new journal: Papier brand, blue with waves of stars. I wrote my morning pages (three pages, according to The Artist's Way) and kept going. I messaged an Irish Step Dance instructor about adult classes in Fayetteville. I don't really have the money or time for such an expensive, intense hobby, but it would be a fun way to exercise and be creative. I haven't heard anything from her. 

I opened the #19 ink from my Diamine Inkvent calendar. This was Cinnabun, a standard brown. I like brown inks because they feel old fashioned, like original walnut-shell inks. Josh had actually cleaned my green TWSBI stub pen for me, remembering the lessons I gave him one night recently, telling him all about fountain pens in an attempt to bring him into my world and bond with him. I read a little of Victoria Holiday Bliss, a special magazine. I'm not done with Christmas yet, and reading a magazine article in the morning is one of my daily habits. I wrote until 11:30 and then took a shower with philosophy Morning Maple 3-in-1 shampoo and Twisted Peppermint body wash. I put on navy fleece-lined leggings, a sports bra (less itchy on my winter-dry skin), my red beaded Twinkle Twinkle tee, and the Out of Print Read Your Socks Off socks Josh gave me for Christmas. He gave me several pairs of bookish socks, and I've been wearing a new pair each day. I dusted silver glitter on my face, neck, and hair. 

I was frustrated with myself because I forgot to eat breakfast on the first day of the year! Those fabulous beverages distracted me. But I went to Barnes and explored. I smelled a lovely candle called Dark Academia, but I'm not going to pay $28 for it. I didn't find any new magazines, so I bought a tomato caprise for lunch. I was so hungry by then that I ate half of it in the car. I only stayed at Barnes for 40 minutes or so, but it counted as my artist's date (also from The Artist's Way) for the week. I listened to The Electricity of Every Living Thing while I showered and while I drove. 

When I got home, Josh had cleaned the whole house! I had cleaned up the study, putting away books and gifts and gathering all my current projects into tote bags (Josh calls them house purses, and they bug him less than clutter on the floor and the ottomans). Oliver was watching videos, but he wasn't tense, and he actually watched full videos instead of rapid cycling. When he rapid video cycles, he'll watch the same string of 30+ videos and stop each at the same point, usually 10-60 seconds in, and then start the cycle over in the same order. It's bizarre, but I guess it's not so strange for an autistic person. The good-natured video time didn't last, but I tried to focus on the candles. The Snowflakes and Citrus candle had burned out, so I replaced it with White Winter Woods. 

Once the video cycling passed, we went back to the study. Josh gave me a shoulder rub before he got back to reading the poetry anthology What Saves Us. The Peppermint Sugar Cookie candle burned. I got up, turned on the audio book Gingerbread by Helen Oeyemi, opened a Wild Cherry Pepsi (I prefer Cherry Coke, but it's good in a pinch), and cooked corkscrew pasta with pesto, broccoli, and asparagus. 

After dinner, I opened ink #20, Astral. It's a chameleon ink that is black with green-gold glittrer--roaring '20s gorgeous! I definitely want to buy a full-sized bottle of Astral when it comes out next year. It reminds me of my doll Lunette (technically a witch, but I think of her as a sassy wingless sprite). Josh started his first book of the new year: Going South to Teach, about a woman (1800s?) leaving New York to teach in Raleigh. He's only reading books by non-males this year; this will be his 200th book by a woman. I need to make him a stack of poetry books. I chose two other books I'd like us to read (reread for me) together: Happiness for Two by Alexandra Stoddard and The Hidden Writer by Alexandra Johnson. The latter goes with my 2024 focus on journals, diaries, and books on journaling. I'll also be reading memoirs by and biographies of poets. 

I spent most of the first day of the year writing, which I think is a great way to welcome the new year. I rested with my heated blanket under me as my kidneys have been hurting and bleeding. I see my nephrologist on the 15th. I learned two new words for this winter:

Apricity: the warmth of sunlight in winter

Vellichor: the feeling of wistful romance one gets from the scent of old books

I finished the book Audrey by Megan Hess, my first book of the new year. And, honestly, it's the only book I've finished so far this year. Not a good start! But I read poems from Books and Libraries and wrote my word-of-the-year blog post. And I set my reading goal for the year: 100 books again. 

The rest of the week was very sleepy but included some great times. I'll write about them soon.

Word of the Year 2024.

So, the new year has begun, my 39th January 1st. It is my 19th January 1st with Josh. And this year, we are sharing a word. The word is progress. 

I chose the word, and Josh agreed to it. Last year, my word was nourish, which I eventually realized I actually used for a past year. I encouraged/nagged Josh to choose a word last year too. I suggested challenge, but he didn't like the sound of that--too much pressure. He came up with Endure. While the word has some romantic associations (Anne Shirley's "For as long as the sun and the moon shall endure"), this sounded too much like suffering, like bare survival, like not quite dying to me. I proposed an alternative: persevere. It has the same basic meaning but with a much more positive connotation. He (reluctantly?) agreed to this. I don't know how much he ever thought of the word. But he did persevere through last year; I did too, and we persevered together even though at times, it was more like endurance. And did I nourish myself? 

As I wrote yesterday, I think I often did, storing up as much love and joy as I could. I spent too much money this--last summer, and I ate too much junk food and drank too much soda and coffee, especially toward the end of the year. But I tried to establish a habit of eating breakfast every day. I did some yoga. I read 112 books. I read 19 books specifically on art, fashion, or design. I read 31 books of poetry in October. I wrote many poems in the latter half of the year, dozens, more than I have written, perhaps, in years. I interrogated memories and polished the genuine ones until they shone. I clung to what I know to be true, which, this year--last year, hasn't felt--didn't feel like much. 

But that's last year. This year is something new. Josh said we'd wake up to our same lives, but I don't think that's necessarily true. This is a different space of time, a time for new decisions, and yes, a blank canvas. On this canvas, we can (we already have started, today) paint something entirely new. It's not that we won't remember what came before, that we won't still have ink stains on our hands (from the heartbreaks, from the traumas, from the acting out, from the episodes, from the anger) that may smudge our canvas, especially if we are not careful. But. It is a new space. This year can be a year of sobriety, of love, of rebuilt trust, of stability, of joy. 

Of progress. Another sober day. Another poem written. Another song sung. Another journal completed. Another book by a non-male author read. Another workout. Another run. Another session. Another term--three of them. Another new word.

I haven't made great leaps today. But I have moved. While, for the past two or three months, I have crawled, today, I strolled. Tomorrow, I may stride. I'm really thinking of tomorrow as the beginning of the year's work as everyone goes back to work. I will try to welcome all beginnings: today as the first day of the year, tomorrow as the first day Josh goes back to work, Thursday as the first day Oliver goes back to school, January 15th as the day I see my nephrologist and (hopefully) begin to see a reduction in pain and bleeding, January 16th as the day classes begin, February 1st as the first day of a new month, February 16 as the first day of our 18th year of marriage, and so on. I marked the first day of winter. On any day, I may frolic or run, climb or dance. 

I marked the last day of 2023. And I marked the first day (just a few days ago) of my medication change. I will continue to mark days as well as look forward to them. I am determined to believe that each day will bring good, whether it comes to me or I create it. I will have days, as I did last year, in which I cannot create the good. But the good is there anyway. I will continue to store love, continue to plant seeds. I will make progress. 

The Last Day of 2023.

This will be a short post because I just wrote a long post on the winter solstice and other holiday celebrations. Josh actually wrote a blog post today. He has revived the blog he began eleven or twelve years ago, and I'm happy to see it. He wrote about the practice of imposing meaning. We had a discussion yesterday about what I called "planting seeds." We have different ideas about what that means. Take my annual tradition of selecting a very special calendar for the new year. I take this seriously; I am choosing the images that will light the next twelve months. This year, I have used an Annie Stegg calendar, which is beautiful. I have her Phantom of the Opera prints on our living room wall. Her art is enchanting. 

Anyway, back to planting seeds. Josh said that I choose a calendar because I am affirming (promising) that I will "be here" for the next year. I think he meant that as a choice to be alive for another year. But that's not how I think of it. I'm well past setting up future mile markers to pull myself through another day or week or month. Josh says that these deadlines or obligations are effective for him. But I buy the calendar because I want to send my future self beautiful art to reveal each month for the next year. I want to send reinforcements ahead, supporting myself in advance and giving myself something to which I can look forward. I've been thinking a lot about that, especially since the winter solstice. Celebrations and festivals plant seeds, events about which to get excited, events which will mark (and, as Josh wrote, giving meaning to) the passage of time. It's like leaving water at intervals in the desert for future travelers, and one of those travelers is you. 

I recently found a quotation I wrote down at some point. I don't remember the source or the exact words, but it was something like I stored up more love than I thought I could ever possibly need. I feel like I've done that over the last three years, and I think it is why I have survived this year. It has been a hard year. I've tried new things. I've had my heart broken more than once. I've grieved and not known how to grieve. I've not known how to move forward. But I've moved. And now, we're on the brink of 2024, and I continue to store up as much as I can, even if I'm only (or not even) breaking even right now. 

New Year's Eve may be an arbitrary marker, and if I stay up to see midnight, it won't be on purpose. I think Josh and I have stayed up for just a couple of our nineteen midnights. But I will gather any form of love and any form of joy I can find if it is healthy. I will set it out like water and store it up like blubber and furs.

So, I embrace the coming of the new year, and I ponder the word that I'll sling around my shoulders like a cape (and around Josh's shoulders, too, as we've decided to share a word) for the rest of the winter and whatever comes during this revolution. I'll write about it tomorrow. 

My Word of the Year: 2021.

 Last year, my word was practice. This was a great word for me, one I'll probably use again another year. It reminded me to keep hold of my pursuits, even when the world started falling apart. I journaled, I read 61 books (over my goal of 56 books), and wrote my first book of fiction. I failed in maintaining my mental health but continued to practice. Practice imparts responsibility but is also comforting. When I couldn't see loved ones or move easily through the world, I could continue building a practice of words, reading and writing. Bruce and I practiced by reading 10 books together. I could have done better last year, but trying to cling to my word made the difficult year much more valuable. 

After 9 years in the same apartment complex, we moved at the end of last year. I'm a terribly slow unpacker, but finding homes for objects makes me think about why they matter--why, for instance, this book came with me to the new house or why I needed another box of Gelly Roll pens. I'm also trying to appreciate our beautiful new home each day. I've dealt with long-term depression, which saps gratitude and joy as well as energy. As much as possible, I want to combat that this year. So I considered the word enjoy as my word for 2021. But the sound and tone didn't captivate me.

So I've decided on the word savor as my word for 2021. I want to savor my lovely home, the quiet time when Oliver returns to ABA therapy, the time I carve out with Josh, every writing tool in which I've invested, every book I read toward another goal of 56 (keeping in mind my goal to finish a total of 1,000 books by my not-so-very-far-away 40th birthday--754 and counting!), each item I unpack, and every small joy that might ordinarily slip by me. 

A new year won't solve the world's problems or my personal issues, but it is a fresh opportunity to savor the good. I intend to take that opportunity. 

What Will Be the Word of the Year for 2020?

Have you chosen your word? Choose wisely; this word will be a part of your mind and heart for a whole year (at least!).

I chose my word weeks ago, but I'm not revealing it until New Year's Day. I have decided not to use the weekly update format. I'm going to let the word seep into what I'm already writing. I'm excited.

And I can't wait to find out what your word of the year will be!