I am all tied up in knots. I woke up this morning and did my morning pages and found myself writing “It is already January 4 and I haven’t even got my bullet journal set up.” So we may as well cancel 2019, friends. Because 4 days are lost forever to my new bullet journal.
I didn’t mean to become a bullet journal person. And when I bullet journal, I do it in my own very special way using a very special pencil. Last year, I adopted my own approach to bullet journaling because I am one of those that gathers at the altar of “Emily the Mother Of Perpetual List Making”. And I assumed that capturing the lists in one place that is sort of organized might be more healthy than trying to carry them all around in my heart and mind (with the full weight that the guilt of ‘oh I should of or I could of’ carries).
It surprised me how well it bullet journaling for me. And sometime in the last month, I began to believe that I could do a bullet journal the ‘right way’ or ‘for real’ or ‘correctly’. Ironically, the whole point of a bullet journal is to make it work for you, not you having to work for a pre-printed journal. And where this toxic sense of perfection (hello 1 wing on the enneagram) came from… never mind, I know.
So we have to cancel 2019 because I didn’t start it perfectly at 12:00am, January 1, when my 13yo sweetly woke me up from sleep on the couch to say Happy New Year.
I have mixed feelings about New Years resolutions and intentions. One thing I have learned about myself is that my time frame for goals is WAY less than 52 weeks or 365 days. I’m good for 4-6 weeks. Then I’m bored, whether I have successfully attacked a new goal or habit or failed miserably. And my year restarts not in the middle of a sleepy gray winter, but usually at the end of the summer with all those fall smells of new notebooks and sharpened pencils.
So where the heck the grace I usually extend to myself went to is anyone’s guess. But hey. Here I am, writing on a blog that I took down and then put back up with the hopes that I can at least throw a few more words up here each week than I did two times last year.
So maybe 2019 can happen.
Maybe I can begin to enjoy the people and tasks in front of me more than being worried about doing it all perfectly. Wouldn’t it be something to enjoy the creative invitation of mess rather than the perfection of straight lines and military bubble letters.
I think I’ll land somewhere in the middle this year (and most of my life). But dang, I’m so excited about being back to writing here. I wonder where this renewed adventure will lead.