Wednesday, January 03, 2007

welcome to the new year: resolutions 101

I spent part of the day Monday writing a paragraph of 2007s, trying to get used to seeing it and writing it. I’ve been known to date a check two years in the past. Oops. I couldn’t get the year 2004 out of my head.

Then, to my other New Year’s tradition: Writing a modest little list of resolutions… more like goals, I guess. I tried to keep them reasonable, small, and useful. I think I ended up with about fifty, to “gradually” fit into my schedule. Instead of a few changes, I wrote a plan for a complete life overhaul.

Sigh. To-do lists, goal-planning sessions, new year’s resolutions… They invite my inner optimist to dream big.

According to my list, the Jenn Langefeld of December 31, 2007 has written several dozens of short stories (all of which will be making the rounds at various literary magazines), speaks conversant French and passable Italian, cooks and cleans like a junior Martha Stewart, is a compassionate and loving daughter/sister, has knitted blankets enough to thaw the Arctic Circle… No, I’m not even kidding. There’s more to the list, but quite honestly, I don’t think it will all fit here.

Oh, resolutions. What will I do with you.

Resolutions get my mind racing and all my hopes rise to the surface. I want to learn more, read more, write more, think more, love more, pray more, and… have leisurely, relaxing days. I feel like Bridget Jones and her quest for inner poise.

I try to take myself with a grain of salt.

Because the resolution list really is an honest one: I do want to polish my French (which has slipped back to “Oui” and “Non,” and that’s about it), I do want to play the piano again (and memorize seven or eight Bach inventions), and I do want to cook everything printed in Gourmet magazine. I want to pen long letters to all my friends, and, most of all, I want to write scores of short stories, essays, memoirs, and novels.

But I also realize (occasionally) that I cannot be perfect at every single thing I am interested in. This tends to make me a little sad. Or extremely burnt out and considering switching careers. (How about accounting?)

The best antidote I’ve found to my goal-setting, life-planning, quest-for-perfection mania is gratefulness.
Awareness of all the ways that my needs have been met, so graciously.
Knowledge that my way to writing could be unspeakably harder than it is.
Consciousness that I am surrounded by love and support.

This quiets me down and gets me to stop thinking about myself. The grip on my resolution-scribbling pen loosens, and the list finally stops. I am so very blessed to be living where I am and doing what I do.

I read a book for writers, called The Pocket Muse, by Monica Wood. About midway through, she talks about the first stage of the writing life, which she calls “apprenticeship.” Quoting one of her friends, she states “A writer’s apprenticeship usually lasts ten years.” (Yes, this terrified me.) But she later says, “Respect your apprenticeship.” Respect. It was such a surprising word for me. Apprentices are learners. Their work is riddled with mistakes, and (hopefully) they grow from each one. They eventually master their craft. It takes time.

What a relief. I’m an apprentice. I am learning how to write. I have bad days; I have good days. I rarely know what I’m doing, but that’s just fine. After all, this is just the first draft of my writing life. The pressure’s off.

So I’m still hoping to learn Italian, and my mammoth reading list still looks daunting. But instead of looking for perfection, I am looking to learn and explore and grow. I’ll do what I can. And I think it will be a wonderful year.—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 01/03 at 04:04 PM
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