I’m still here.
Well, not here here.
There is no time for here. No time or space for much of anything besides the kids, really.
But I’m finally getting some decent sleep again, so that’s nice.
I keep thinking about how sleep deprivation/interruption is literally used as a torture technique, but mothers (esp of newborns) are expected to weather it like no big deal. And to love the thing that is causing it, no less. (WHICH WE DO.) #momlife— Kristan Hoffman (@kristanhoffman) November 4, 2019
Yesterday marked the beginning of a new year. Sometimes I feel that the way we measure and move through time is a meaningless construct — and yet, there’s something to it, isn’t there? Something to the idea of a fresh start. Something to the collective energy of so many people reflecting, reaffirming, rerouting.
In recent years, I’ve often skipped resolutions, but for 2020, I did jot down a few small — but potentially very impactful — goals:
- Write words with wings
- Read fiction 10 minutes every day
- Go to bed around 11:30 pm every day
- Don’t look at the phone when I’m spending time with people (especially my kids)
- Blog more consistently again
Yes, in the last half of 2019, there wasn’t time for here. But it’s a new year. I’m back, because I want to be. Because this space means something to me — does something for me — even if “blogs are dead” and “readership is down” and I’m more or less just talking into a void. That’s OK. It’s my void. I like it. I’ll fill it.
(Bonus points if my using the word “void” made you think of The Good Place.)