In January, after reading a post from Jules, I was inspired to set a goal of writing one blog post per month. This felt manageable, albeit a far cry from the days of writing five posts a week, back in the heyday of blogging. I did pretty well, through June, despite some major personal challenges in my immediate and extended family. But when my mother ended up in the hospital in July, while my father ended up with Covid at home, and my eldest child was freaking out about moving out on her own and starting college, the blog (and so many other plans) once again got set to the side for more important things.
Through August 1st, I wrote a grand total of eight posts, and then something had to give. I shared post #9 last week, an ode to the purge of stuff that is currently sweeping our home (thanks in part to the major move I've been assisting my parents with all fall), and this makes #10.
One year, twelve months, ten posts. It doesn't feel like much, and yet every time I managed to write something it felt like an accomplishment. Something for me. Something that used another part of my brain, that dug up another part of my old life. Something that fed a desire that is still deeply buried within. Something I don't want to fully give up just yet.
Sometimes when I'm in the middle of reading history with three of my kids or trying to wrap my head around a middle school math problem, I suddenly think of something I'd like to write about. I miss writing. But life must take precedence, and at this point as a homeschooling mom of four, it's more important to ensure that they know how to read and write than it is to get my creative juices flowing or attempt to build any kind of following again.
And so in those moments when the inspiration for a post comes, I breathe a sigh and realize those days have passed. I will never be a famous blogger or an influencer, other than in my own little realm of influence. But in my 41st year of life, I find that I'm okay with those facts, in a way that I wasn't in my 20s.
|Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash|
And so here we are, at the end of yet another year. Hoping to finish well, and looking ahead to the possibilities and unknowns of 2023. I've got a list of smaller, and hopefully achievable, goals going in the Keep list on my phone. From time to time I think of something else I'd like to add to the checklist of small wins, so I open the app and add it.
Read a book, write twelve blog posts, lose 2 lbs. a month...these aren't big things, but in the grand scheme of my life at the moment, achieving them would feel huge.
If 2022 (and 2021...and 2020...) and all of its chaotic curveballs have taught me anything it's this: In 2023 I'd like to learn how to celebrate, and be content with, small victories.