A few years ago, I fell in love with summer. Completely, unconditionally, head-over-heels in love. I realized I adored warmth, I craved sunshine on my skin, I longed for long days of light and nights lived outdoors. Why was I fooling myself for so long that fall was my favorite season, or that I loved the buds of spring? I am a summer lover, practically a heathen for melting ice cream and sorching sand between my toes. (Living in the Midwest can make this love affair challenging, given the 6+ months of winter in the calendar, but that’s a story for another day.)
So I love summer. So what?
Well. I have an asterisk to add to my summer loving. A small piece of my heart is reserved for early September. (I can already hear my spouse declaring, “HAH! I KNEW IT! YOU REALLY LOVE FALL.”) But this is not a seasonal love – it has nothing to do with crisp mornings or the first changing leaves. Fall starts out beautiful and full, and then it breaks your heart with barren trees and ice-cold wind. (To say nothing of November rain; Guns and Roses already said it all.) My small love for fall has only to do with back-to-school.
You see, I am and will forever be a complete dork when it comes to going back to school. I used to savor the smell of fresh school supplies, delighted in the crisp crack of a new book’s spine. My heart leaps at back-to-school sales, even when I no longer need shoes for gym class. I love the excitement of new classes, new teachers, a whole year of learning ahead. I think this love of school is partly to blame for my return to graduate school – maybe I just wanted new notebooks, not a master’s degree. But either way, I get excited just watching the school bus barrel down our street in September. School is BACK!
(And here I can hear my brothers’ eyes rolling. “You are just a LOSER, L.”)
Yes, and I embrace the dorkdom.
So in honor of my love for this small sliver of fall, I am embarking on a new venture. Part penitential discipline, part creative endeavor. The writing bug has bitten again and left a gnawing inside. Reminded me of a part of myself that I am neglecting. Which isn’t healthy, spiritually or otherwise.
So I am resolving – and I need you, dear reader, to help me stick to it – to write for 20 minutes every day (<– the Creative Endeavor). No great American novel is getting written here; I just want to make myself write, and I have to start small to make it feasible. Blogging gives me the structure I need to make it happen, so here I shall write.
In order to carve those 20 minutes out of the working mother’s typically too-busy schedule, I am going to Give Up (<– the Penitential Discipline) reading the blogs that I normally like to peruse in my idle internet-ing. (And I confess, there are more than a few.) I know this sounds counter-intuitive in one sense: give up reading others’ blogs so you can write your own, thereby attracting other readers into the time-suck of reading your own musings? But, dear reader, I don’t care if it’s illogical. I’m going for it, and I would love for you to stick around and hold me to my resolution.
20 minutes is up. If only I had that “new notebook” smell around to celebrate…
See you tomorrow!