#YearOfMaking

Last year, I followed Kim Werker's #YearOfMaking with delight, enjoying her creative process and what she produced.  She was making soap, doodling, crocheting, baking with her son, sewing, all kinds of making going on. I remember thinking: I could totally make one thing a day, no problem. I didn't even need to get as complicated as making soap.
So when she put out her ebook to help readers in their own #YearOfMaking journey, I took up the challenge,  on a whim, really and because I like to support the people I know in their creative endeavors. I bought the ebook and dove right in.

(Speaking of which, my friend Tim is self-publishing his first collection of short stories, We Regret to Inform You. He's a great writer, and a great guy. Check it out, and pre-order your copy!) 

This year, I resolved not to make any resolutions but in a way, the #YearOfMaking is a resolution. It is a resolution to indulge a creative side, to make room in my life for making and creating. It's a resolution I can get behind.

Jeez. I wasn't really anticipating that the #YearOfMaking would require so much effort, considering that I thought I already made a lot. It's not that I thought it would be easy but I thought it would come naturally to pop down to my sewing room or pull out some paper and coloring implements or whatever else I felt like creating. It turns out, I do make something everyday and it's usually food-related! That's not really the stretching I had in mind when I set out to do this. I didn't think I'd require so much energy or that I'd be too tired at the end of the day.

Why am I not carving out time IN my day for #YearOfMaking instead of waiting until the end of the day, when I'm really not at my best? I guess because during the day, I'm either at work or I'm tending to the household and the creatures that live in it.

I freely admit that I'm not disciplined and I never really push myself to a limit. if I can do it, I do it. If I can't, I either do it half-assed or just don't do it at all. The #YearOfMaking, I've come to find, early as it is in the game, is not just about indulging your creative side but it's also about challenging yourself, making a commitment, and following it through. (Definitely sounds like a classic NYE resolution!). It's about taking yourself out of your comfort zone and having the temerity to try your hand at something new. It's also about acknowledging the making you already do, on a daily basis, and not discounting that.

So, I'm still in this and I'm rechristening it 365 Non-Consecutive Days of Making, but I'll still be using the #YearOfMaking hashtag on Instagram.

Memory Lane.

This morning was a positively balmy 39 degrees and the sun was kind of out. I noticed all the walkers and joggers out during my drive to Sunday school and I felt a twinge of guilt. It's been the New Year for two weeks now! Time to tackle those resolutions! 

But I'm not using the word resolution. I hate that word. It's cliche and overused and means nothing at this point. Instead, thanks to Leonie Dawson's Amazing Life workbook, I have a list of 100 things I want to do in 2014. On that list is the Redding Road Race; there are three courses. Henry and I are doing the 7 mile course.  How long can I blame my lack of training on winter weather, especially if I don't take advantage of days like today? 

And that is how I accidentally took a 4.7 mile walk today. Two years ago, I was doing triathlons. Tonight, my calves are burning from a walk. I mean, it was hilly for sure because Redding....it has hills. And hills. And more hills to spare. Did I mention Redding is hilly? Because it is. My calves say so. I mean, RunKeeper says that I achieved an elevation record today! 

RunKeeper doesn't lie. Still, it was a walk; I'm starting from scratch here. 

Okay, I'm moving on now. Back to my point. Which is this: I'd forgotten how meditative a solitary walk could be.  I've had so much on my mind that I can't even sort any of it out. It's all a jumbled mess,  crammed in there, like that junk drawer in your kitchen.  But the more I walked, the more my mind emptied itself out. Where did all my preoccupations go? I don't know...they are certainly not gone. They've scattered to some sleepy corner of my mind. As I walked past a small farm, I caught a familiar scent on the wind and I was transported back to the house my grandparents rented every summer in Kerhonkson, in the Catskills, from my grandma's Cousin Sadie. That yellow house on Stony Kill Road was such a huge part of my childhood, it's surreal that it's no longer a part of my life. In my mind's eye, it seems like yesterday. I have vivid snapshots; a collection of vignettes. The gazebo behind the house, dank and musty because someone had the bright idea to put carpet in there, my grandma and her friends gathered at tables playing canasta while I dipped crackers in chopped liver because I didn't know any better {when I think about it now, blech!}. The house that always smelled like mothballs. The little plastic tub of vermin poison that Grandma kept on the floor near the fridge. Grandma standing at the sink, scrubbing clothes with a washboard and hanging the stuff out to dry on the line. Out behind the house was a creek and we'd walk up the road with our father to a spot in the woods where we could hike through to a swimming hole called Flat Rocks. The rocks were indeed flat, and smooth, and formed a perfect slide down into a deep basin where minnows nibbled on our toes. 

But the scent I caught also reminded me of an idea that I shelved awhile back. For a long time now, I've noticed that I have significant gaps in my memory. At first, I blamed a biking accident I had in Ecuador. Besides being incredibly banged up (black eye, bleeding from elbows and knees), I also hit my head pretty hard on the ground (I wasn't wearing a helmet, don't tell anyone!), so I'm fairly sure I had a mild concussion. My short-term memory leaves much to be desired and my long-term memory is spotty, at best. If you ask my sister Kate, I just make stuff up half the time because I've imagined it to be true. Debunking my so-called memories has become a regular pastime for Kate, much to our amusement. But I digress. 

When Henry worked for a certain housekeeping maven, he brought home a review copy of a memoir written by a woman who lost her sense of smell after using a nasal swab cold remedy, and found that her memory suffered from it. So, I began to wonder... does not having hearing affect how well experiences are imprinted on my brain? There's a lot from my childhood that I don't remember, and a lot that I only know about because I've heard the stories. I do think some of it is just that I was too young to really comprehend the circumstances surrounding my parents' divorce but my memories of childhood are hazy at best, and non-existent at worst. 

But can I tell you, as I'm typing this, I'm starting to realize that I probably remember more than I think I do but there's been a lack of processing on my part. I've never really looked closely at the snapshots stored away in my memory bank; I've never examined the background or thought about what is going on outside the frame. Today's walk was a trigger for that process--it was literally a trip down memory lane and now I need to start writing this stuff down, to let the story come out and release the inhibition that will allow me to cross off another thing on my list of things to do this year: learn to write a proper personal essay and submit it for publication. 

In the meantime, I plan to take more of those walks and rediscover more stories. 

{This post contains an affiliate link to Leonie Dawson's Amazing Life via Thien-Kim of I'm Not The Nanny.}

Happier.

I don't know if it was an accident that January's book dovetails so nicely with the season's tendency to create resolutions and vow to begin anew but it was certainly an apropos read as I head into 2014 with a vow to begin some serious introspection. I've always admired my friend Caitlin's ability to observe and analyze her behaviors as they relate to her husband and children, and I strive for that same level of inwardness this year, in the name of strengthening my relationship with my husband and creating a stronger family unit. I've started working on my Amazing Life 2014 workbook (more on that soon!), which pairs quite nicely with the ideas I've garnered from Happier at Home, by Gretchen Rubin.

The changes of season are the true markers in the year where we bow to the inclination to refresh our habits, our places, ourselves. September, a new school year, when nights get cooler and the days begin to shorten. November, when true winter starts to set in, engulfing us in darkness earlier and earlier.  March, when it is still cool but the wind is warmer, and green starts to show up again. June, when summer seems to stretch endlessly ahead of us and we live our life outdoors, sun up to sundown.  At these points in the year,  I will revisit my happiness goals.

So, 2014 is the new page upon which I write. This year, I aim for no lofty resolutions but a journey inward. In this, my 35th year, I hope to learn more about myself, to become more aware of what makes me tick, what makes me happy and to strive for general self-acceptance.
Inspired by Happier at Home, I wrote down some things that come to mind when I think about my own happiness. Ready? (Maybe you will make your list. If you do, comment here with a link back to your post! I'll come read it, promise.)

This post was inspired by Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin, in which she embarks on a 9 month pursuit of happiness. Join From Left to Write on January 6 as we discuss Happier at Home. You can also chat live with Gretchen Rubin on January 7 on Facebook! As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.