If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know this is the time of year when I start looking forward. I’m not a big believer in new year’s resolutions—as far as I can tell, saying “Henceforth, I shall no more _________” is pretty much the best way to make sure that _________ takes up permanent residence in your mind. (With a few notable exceptions, of course. Every friend who’s in recovery can tell me their date of sobriety. But I think of this more along the lines of a commitment than a resolution—more like a wedding anniversary than a pledge to stop eating ice cream.)
While I don’t make resolutions, I do believe in the value of rededicating myself to important principles at the start of each year. What’s the difference, you might ask? Rededication means remembering something I’ve forgotten—something I used to believe strongly. Or perhaps it’s something I’ve always believed in strongly, but I’ve grown lazy about walking that particular walk.
Rededication means looking backward and forward at the same time—remembering who I’ve been while shaping who I want to be. Rather than drawing a line in the sand and making a statement about what will happen from now on, rededication means being aware of what has come before, learning from the past, and progressing with renewed sense of purpose.
So. To what will I rededicate myself in 2021?
Creativity
Like a lot of people, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety throughout the pandemic. One of the more common symptoms of depression is apathy–the loss of a desire to do anything, even the things that bring you joy. For me, those things include writing and drawing.
But ever since I learned that badass Stacey Abrams is also a romance novelist, my writing mojo has returned. I’m not sure what it was about that knowledge that freed up something in my brain; I only know that I started writing a novel I would never have given myself permission to write before. And I’m allowing myself to write less-than-perfect sentences—whenever I find myself wrestling with the words, I just insert a period and move on. It feels a lot less like work and more like fun. I suspect this is the way I wrote
when I was young and newly in love with writing.
Taking those steps toward reclaiming a creative life seems to have helped in other areas as well—I’m picking up a pencil and drawing more often, trying some things I’m not sure I can do. It seems the more I create, the more I feel like creating. That’s a good enough reason to rededicate myself to making creative space in 2021.
Buying real books from actual bookstores
Perhaps because I’ve been writing more regularly, I’ve also been thinking about books. The majority of my reading has been done via my Kindle for the past several years, but in 2021 I’m going to rededicate myself to buying real books. My goal is one real book for every Kindle edition I purchase.
Why? In a word, Amazon.
Full disclosure: I’ve relied on Amazon deliveries pretty heavily throughout the past year, and I don’t anticipate ending my relationship with them. For better or worse, Amazon is the logical consequence of capitalism. But one not-so-great thing Amazon has done is convince people that bookstores are unnecessary and books should be cheap.
Local bookstores serve so many purposes, I won’t try to list them all here. Just a few of them are helping readers locate books they barely remember from childhood, introducing children to real live writers, and allowing readers to browse through options they might not have considered without a physical book in their hands. Bookstores sell books simply by existing. And selling books helps writers make a living.
The work of writing and producing a book is mostly invisible, but if you’ve ever had a paperback fall apart in your hands (or rub off on your fingers), you know the difference between a well-made book and its cheaper counterpart. E-books are an alternative to cheaply made books, of course—but the difference in cost benefits book producers, not writers.
When we pay more for a physical book, we’re voting with our dollars for a world in which writers can make a living with their craft. That’s true for only a small segment of authors right now. So, in 2021, I’m going to rededicate myself to sending my favorite writers a larger paycheck—in the hope that they’ll be able to write more of the books I enjoy.
Gratitude
My absence from this blog for the last five months should tell you something about how difficult the fall semester was. I knew the pandemic would transform it in significant ways. I knew this semester would be nothing like any other in teaching career. But I had no idea how different. And the worst part of this experience might be heading into spring with the knowledge that next semester likely won’t be any better. No vaccine can be distributed quickly or widely enough to salvage the 2020-21 academic year.
But a vaccine is coming. It’s been approved, it’s being rolled out to the public, and it will change things for the better. Maybe not as quickly as any of us would like–but that’s where gratitude comes in. One thing I’ve learned from this pandemic year is the luxury of having exactly what you want, when you want it. I’m pretty sure it took half a dozen curbside grocery orders filled with substitutions and missing items to teach me that lesson, but it finally sunk in: life goes on without peanut butter Chex. In fact, it goes on pretty much unscathed. Without a vaccine, on the other hand—maybe not.
In 2021, I’m going to rededicate myself to remembering that I have everything I need–a job, a home, food in the fridge. I don’t want the “new normal” to include taking those important things for granted again.
No Comments