Some days we were run entirely by our bodies. He danced in his crib, exhausted but waiting, for what I couldn’t tell yet. I read him pages from Lila, nearing the end and half afraid of what might happen on the next page. When I looked over at the little one again, he slid his fingers across his thumbs signing diaper change, at last. I lifted him up, changed and dressed him, and he slept after that. Writing seemed trickier to find in the afternoon, though it was often when I had the time. I made a cup of hot tea, peeled an orange next to three Medjool dates, and waited for words to well up from that great pit of emptiness.
I’m giving this yearlong project a spin. Undoubtedly, I will fall and pick up again. Knowing this makes it easier. Still, I plan to show up to record a short photo and story of my day. You’re welcome to join me. I’d love it really. We can give each other high fives and geek out with a hashtag (#ayearofus), not because everyone is doing it, but because we’re doing it, together. Showing up every damn day to make this creative habit real.