1,000 words, four thousand weeks & no guilt

I was recently skimming a booked called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, which someone had recommended after a discussion about what creative project to pursue next. I skimmed it because (ironically) I didn’t have the time to read it deeply, and in recent months I have a lower tolerance for that kind of nonfiction book. Read into that what you will, but my main takeaway was that one’s list of things to do is never done, and if we keep prioritizing ticking things off that list over what we want to do, we will never do what we want to do—and where is the happiness in that?

Imagine if you never got around to what you wanted to do. Life is not as long as we think it is.

As a parent, I feel like I am always fielding summer camp forms, school forms, doctors and dentist appointments for the kids, summer travel logistics, birthday parties (why are there so many? why?) and all sorts of admin tasks that pop up out of nowhere that take up valuable, scarce time. These are important things, and I do get them done, generally, in a reasonable time frame. There are other things on that list (e.g. change all passwords due to data breach) that feel less pressing for whatever reason (though as I write that, I realize maybe I should tend to that one after I send this). Why have I let it slip? Because there is only so much time in a day and I want to actively choose something that brings me joy, so when I have a babysitter, or the kids are at the little nature-themed summer camp at the farm down the road, I don’t spend the entire time doing admin or folding laundry. As Annie Dillard famously said, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." So I do something that energizes me or feels sacred to me (writing, reading, yoga, piano, gardening, you get the gist). And I don’t feel guilty about it. I’m really tired of guilt—it feels pointless and doesn’t serve anyone? It’s so boring. But that’s the subject of another newsletter maybe.

Recently, I participated in something called #1000wordsofsummer. It’s a little campaign to motivate writers to write (imagine that). I was religious about doing my 1,000 words a day. I announced it to everyone in the household (two small children and two adults, including myself) and made it a priority, usually first thing in the morning but sometimes in the middle of the night if there was no time during the day. My 5-year-old daughter, holding me accountable at the end of the day, would be like, “Mama, did you do your 1,000 words?” And two weeks later, I had some 16,000 words written for my new book. It felt good, productive, creative and juicy. I’m holding the idea close as it still feels like a small but sturdy bird at this point instead of an eagle ready to launch, but it touches on some of what I write about in these newsletters (mothering and wellbeing and country living and end of the world stuff). It’s fiction and has some magic realism and is set in the deep wilderness of West Virginia—that’s all I can say for now. I feel excited about it, but let’s see because you just never know with these things.

You never know, but you have to trust the process.

I was motivated by the words of author Jami Attenberg: “Think about what a good day of writing can do for you spiritually, emotionally. Maybe even in terms of your personal growth. Sometimes it’s not just about creating art but becoming a brighter, more alert and fulfilled version of yourself. There is the version of you waiting to write, and then there is the version of you who has just written.”

She is of course referring to writing but that could be replaced by whatever your creative passion or calling might be.

That’s all for now, and that hopefully explains the inconsistency of these newsletters. Any chance I get, I’ve got my head in this new project. I hope to share more in the coming months.

Ciao for now,

Natasha