Hey there, friends. What's up?
Oh, me? What's been going on over here since I pretty much dropped off the face of this site a couple of years back? The usual. Turned forty. Beloved old cat passed away. Followed by beloved not-so-old dog. Festering disenchantment with overpriced life in waterlogged city. Existential despair. Packed up worldly goods and moved to the mountains. Pretty classic midlife crisis stuff.
I always thought midlife crises only happen to men, and that their only logical outcome resulted in blonde teenagers and red convertibles. I figured I was safe because I don't drive and I've never cared for teenagers, even when I was one. I think I was a year into my own little midlife situation before I even identified it as such. And I'm not sure it's over yet. I have no idea what the rules are for this thing. But I will say this: don't knock midlife crises. There's a lot to be said for having a good hard think about what the hell you're doing with your life and then feeling a powerful compulsion to shake yourself and make some big changes. I'm just grateful to have a partner who thoughtfully timed his midlife crisis to coincide with mine. ("Hey, baby, I've been thinking we need to get the hell out of this godforsaken city and move to a ski town, even though we don't ski." "Me, too!" "Really? It's going to mean doing hard things like packing boxes and leaving jobs and memorizing a brand-new phone number." "No problem!")
All this change is unsettling, sure, but it's got texture. And knowing myself, without texture I'd probably just sleep all day.
I've been wondering to myself why I let this site slide further and further into the background for so long. I've been busy, of course. But jeez, I remember back in the heyday (complete with flappers and bathtub gin! You should've been there!) when I was working full-time, doing my best to be a rockin' mom to Sam in my off-time, all while gestating ol' Will. I spent almost the entire pregnancy feeling nauseated, but never got around to throwing up because I couldn't make the time to get to the bathroom. And even then I was still cranking out a few posts every week.
I think that I got to a point where there were so many changes going on in my life that I'd reverted to a pretty predictable behaviour for me: comfort re-reading. And seriously, how many times do you nice people really need to re-listen to my ever-so-trenchant observations about Jane Austen's entire oeuvre (with the exception of all seven of you hardcore Austen weirdos)? For that matter, how many new things can I even say about Austen at this point in my reading career? "I love her. She rocks. The end."
And then I started to feel kind of rusty in the book-thinkery department. And then I changed my template and hated it but was too lazy to change it back. And then I forgot my password. Mix those with our old friend, chronic busy-itis, and you've got the recipe for blog coma. (Do comas have recipes? How long can I give myself a free pass for effed-up metaphors? DID I MENTION THE FACT THAT I'M FEELING RUSTY?) But I'm feeling like the coma is ending. I want to thank those of you who came and held my hand and told me all I had to do is squeeze once for yes and twice for no. Double thanks to the very special people who pulled bedpan duty. You know who you are.
I have mixed feelings about resolutions, but I have mixed feelings about most things, so I didn't let them get in the way of making one for this year:
Move past the comfort re-reads. Read new books. Or books I haven't read in a long, long, long time (which, with my memory, are pretty much the same as new books). Or books I read a long time ago and hated, even though lots of people said they were good. Or new books that I secretly believe I'll hate, despite the fact that lots of people say they're good.
I suspect that I'm going to have moments of hating this resolution, but hey, that's texture for you.
No big promises, but I'm feeling good about 2013. How about you?