Six months from now, I will turn 35. I want to have at least one essay accepted for publication before then. This is a modest goal, but still a reach for someone who calls herself a “former writer.” Closing my candle business was difficult but this - the writing, the open time - was the ultimate goal. I’m ready to become an active writer again.
I realized last week that all of my personal writing is about love - romantic and platonic love of people, places, and things, of the wanting and searching for love. So, here, titled after the atmospheric 2009 album by the Decemberists, I present to you: The Hazards of Love.
I hope having a concrete goal will keep me writing and editing and assembling what may become a series, possibly a collection down the line. Being able to dream about a project again feels lovely.
So, what does that mean for this newsletter? I’ll be talking more about writing, hopefully, and updating everyone on my (small) bits of progress as I work on polishing several years’ worth of work. Cautious optimism. A submissions spreadsheet is in my future. I have a Google folder loaded with drafts. I’ve already booked another weekend-long workshop in May, more intentional time to keep spilling out love onto the page.
Let’s do this.
Last Sunday night, I was unable to sleep. I laid in bed for several hours before moving myself to the couch in an attempt to not disturb my partner. To-do lists and closet organization ideas poured out of my brain. I bubbled up with creativity and dreamed up the framework of this project. I looked at a massage therapist’s availability and priced out flights for my next trip to Pittsburgh.
Sleepless nights, for me, are sometimes a signal that hypomania is lurking around the corner. Every non-fleeting joy feels like a question if my mood is artificially inflated, everything I check off my to-do list makes me wonder where my energy is coming from, every purchase forces me to think about if this is the start of a spending spree. I want to not pathologize every behavior but I also want to avoid episodes if I can. So on I analyze.
I slept the next night, and the nights through the rest of the week. Crisis averted. My mood elevation was seemingly a response to the longer days that come with the changing of the clock. Though things have been hard lately, something about the first few days of Spring really keep me optimistic, looking forward. It feels like growth is inevitable in the sun’s rays.
On Saturday, I had a perfect Katie Oh Day: I went to boxing, had my nails done with a stunning celestial pattern, and got a beautiful rose gold “permanent” bracelet - a tiny strand of heart-shaped links.
Of course, the next week is going to be rain day after day in Portland. I will mourn the lack of sun, I’m sure. But in some ways I don’t mind being shut in for a little bit longer, hopefully tapping away at my laptop, curving my words into letters of love.