So, this year, my New Year's challenge is to write a brief essay every day.
Last time I journaled (in handwriting and at bedtime – not the best time to try to remember to write) I set some rules. Or perhaps it was the time before: Any subject or genre goes; short story, poetry, essay, description of a menu – it doesn’t matter much. There’s no one here but me and you, dear reader. I will not tolerate wallowing or whining. There has been far too much of that at times in my life. And I will not accept perseveration. I will try for good writing whenever possible, by a broad definition of ‘good’. Perhaps there will be entries I choose to share on this, my semi-forgotten blog but I will not be ashamed to write things I don’t want to share either.
Where
am I coming from? 2021 was not a great year, although not as bad as 2020 or
even 2019 with its long string of personal losses. COVID was still very much in play, but for
much of the year, vaccines had made life a bit on the normal side. I had
stepped into two Board roles that I have enjoyed and been very proud of. My family was well, and late in the year,
we got Lydia, our new puppy. The Holidays were joyful for a welcome change, and we were able
to achieve some of the festivity that I have longed for since Auld Lang Syne. I
wrote my 11th NANOWRIMO novel, this one a time-hopping farce,
Wodehouse meets Doctor Who. We built the kitchen of my dreams. On the worry
side, I started this year with a COVID scare (all clear).
Was I
strong in 2021? I think so. I helped no fewer than four or maybe five networking groups
weather the storm of shutdown. I learned that my voice is listened to,
sometimes too much. And that I have both coaching and leadership skills. Will I
be strong in 2022? I don’t know. It takes a lot, doesn’t it?
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