Sometimes people seem impressed when I tell them I keep a journal. They seem to view it as a feat of discipline. But the truth is I write in those pages compulsively. It’s how I communicate with myself. Even in middle age, I’m trying to figure out how to live. In between the reminders to meditate and exercise and pick up milk, that’s what I keep coming back to in those entries. How do I want to spend my time?
I wish I could tell you I had hard and fast rules. I don’t. But I do notice that I tend to mark time by the art I interact with. I remember museum shows, or a theater performance, or the first time I see a particular ballet pas de deux. Other parts of my life can be a little bit of a blur — the runs in the park, the morning lattes, the hours spent at my computer editing. But then it is the daily effort on projects that lead to something bigger.
I think my goal for this upcoming year is to balance the quotidian work with getting out to see things. Maybe, too, doing things, like dancing merengue. It all requires effort, and sometimes it seems like making sure I’m fed and reasonably healthy and working is all I can manage. But there is a payoff to both daily effort and making time for the fun stuff. Here’s to trying, at least.