the real new year

Doesn't it seem more natural to make our new year's resolutions in September? Rosh Hashanah works seasonally. But what exactly about the gray days of January inspires clarity, motivation, renewed dedication to our plans? The new school year is my new year. Give me a hint of cool air on a September morning and that residual fluttering in the belly (that I now feel for my kids heading off to school, rather than myself), and I'm ready to disinfect the cruddy humidifier, fold the basket of laundry that's been sitting in the living room for three days, and make a big slow cooker full of porridge.

Yes! There it is up there, before I cooked it. You see oatmeal, brown rice, barley, red quinoa, red lentils, and wheat berries. Oh boy. I found this recipe online last year and keep tinkering with the ingredients and proportions. However it turns out, it is always absurdly austere. The growing edge of breakfast. I haven't had it in months, but something about this shift in season made me ready, made me crave the stuff. I'm going to need fuel like this for all the resolutions that are bubbling up to the surface these days.

I credit our time in Vermont for the clarity and energy I feel lately, as much as the mercifully temperate days we've enjoyed this weekend. It was just what a vacation should be: an opportunity to remember who I am, and return to regular life with new motivation to become that person. And so I am sloughing off the effects of August's heavy days and the stress of approaching transitions, in favor of the lightness I feel now that the transitions are well and happily under way.

My resolutions are not very exciting, granted, but worth articulating nonetheless. To attend a yoga or pilates class regularly; to make a lot more time for novel-reading; to write more; to be more present to my children (especially now that I have sufficient child care during the week, hooray!); to make time for meditation/prayer at least a few times a week; to not take on more than I can handle - that is, to not forget the primary importance of the previous items on this list because I feel too frantic and busy. (And believe me, I can make busy out of a lazy Sunday afternoon. It starts inside and manifests in playdates I've arranged that I'm ambivalent about, volunteering to help with something I don't have time for, tackling a complicated dinner I've conceived with two hungry whiny kids underfoot. Why, Meagan??)

So. Slowness, care, intention...purging the pursuit of busy. It seems possible because of the new time Annapolis Elementary School and Lucky Duck Daycare have afforded me, and because I feel a fresh commitment to asking for what I need (and likewise, saying no when I need to). 

Of course I will still yell and check email while Frances tells me about her day and try to squeeze in one more errand even though it will make us late. I'll feel resentful instead of asking Mike to help with the dishes (which, when I finally ask, he will happily do). Of course I will. The lady nibbling her nails while she types these words knows about the staying power of bad habits. But maybe I'll do those things a little less. Or at least notice when I do.

Happy new year, friends.

p.s. Just in case you're curious, here are a few practical changes I've made that hopefully will facilitate a more peaceful approach to daily life. I would love to hear about how you approach some of these things and make the time and space you need...

Mike and I scheduled a weekly check-in to talk family business. The hope is that we'll save up all the "did you call so-and-so?" and "the car really needs an oil change" and "where will we spend next summer?" comments that we throw at each other over the course of the week in between everything else going on (thus subtly ratcheting up the stress level).  We've done it once. So far, so good.  

What else? I put a Saturday pilates class on the calendar, and I've been going. I read and/or write during Gabriel's naps, when he's home with me. The adolescent in me has always resisted this kind of "scheduling" (where's the sponaneity and fun in that?) but maybe I'm growing up. A little. I certainly feel awed by the way that structure can set us free (toddlers and adults alike).