Here we are approaching the end of the year, and I’ve managed exactly two blog posts since school started the day after Labour Day, and only seven since I started back at school for real in May. I should have suspected that would be the result of jumping back into university as a full-time student at age 50, but somehow, I thought I could manage a heavy course load (full or better so far), and still get some writing done.
To be fair to myself, I’ve got a bunch of stuff on paper written at odd moments about going back to school and I’ve managed the third pass editing (make it pretty) runs through the last two of the Troll World books and the second pass (fix the problems) of a standalone book in the meantime, but all of those took at least three times as long as they would have in the before time, and I would have gotten other writing tasks done besides.
Still, I can’t be too hard on myself, right? After all, the time I didn’t spend writing has been spend doing school work and studying and that hasn’t worked out too badly. No, my final marks aren’t available for this term yet, but the projections are good, and the Summer courses turned out very well.
And yet here we are sliding steadily towards the flipping of the calendar and many blog posts remain unwritten, some books remain unread, and more than a few stories remain incomplete. Part of the shape of my life, it seems.
And the January first calendar change feels more arbitrary than ever. We all have our own calendars, often more than one, marking various anniversaries and important dates. A number of mine seem to come close to the end of the calendar year. My birthday, that of one of my children (others are near the beginning and closer to the Summer Solstice, that one not too long after my wedding anniversary), the date I met my wife, the Winter Solstice itself. There are other more somber ones scattered across the standard calendar as well. Emotional losses I still feel, regrets I still have, lost opportunities.
But December always speaks to me as holding the moment in the circle where my own personal calendar both ends and begins. That’s a week from today and this year will mark fifty-one trips around the sun. Some days I feel my age, most I don’t. there’s likely to be a shift there over the next few orbits, too.
The point of this rambling post? I’m still here, still typing sometimes, still studying, and not yet ready to abandon plans for the future.
Be well, everyone.by