2017: On the Page

2017 was an epic reading year for me. I felt like I truly reclaimed reading, in I way I hadn't since childhood. I dedicated most spare moments to getting lost—lost in worlds and words. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone with reading material (you know, out of that comic-YA-modern fiction-repeat cycle), in large part thanks to a great achievement:

The glory!

I finished the SPL Summer Bingo.

That's right. Twenty-four books between Memorial Day and Labor Day, filling in whatever random criteria those Seattle librarians dictate. This list has haunted my reading goals since 2011, when I first learned it existed. Most summers I fill out about 6-10 books, then throw the list in the garbage to marinate in my shame and failure. But this year, it happened. It clicked. I read during Alex's naptime. I felt awake enough to read at night. I read outside in the sunshine, one of the most glorious and comforting reading experiences a person can have.* I utilized the library like a champion, finally mastering the art of the staggered hold list.** And in return, I learned to identify as a reader again. It felt like coming home.

*In my personal and completely correct opinion.
**Nothing is worse than an un-staggered hold list. You've got to plan these things, or else you'll have five vital books all come in on one day.

While I read so, so many gems this year, I also read a lot that was just a'ight. But that was part of the reader reclamation—the thrill of the grab bag, of discovery, and of not needing everything to be a winner.

Without further ado, the stats.

Total Books Read: 61. Super up from last year! I credit that beautiful summer of reading, where I read roughly ten books a month. It was glorious.

Books of Essays I Adored: Voracious, by Cara Nicoletti. I didn't love her writing necessarily, but the conceit of the book reverberated deep into my soul. She tracked her experience as a reader throughout the years, with a corresponding recipe for each significant novel. This is my BRAIN. Everything important in my life is linked with food, and that definitely spreads to novels. I still need to buy my own copy and try out some of the recipes (particularly the clam chowder. No, I haven't read Moby Dick and I certainly don't intend to, but that chowder sounds mouth-watering).
One Day We'll All be Dead and None of This Will Matter by Scaachi Koul. I read many, many collections of essays this year—thanks in large part to human angel Katie Tamola and her excellent newsletter—but Koul's was by far my favorite. I love her voice, and she manages the rare feat of being introspective without an excess of navel-gazing. I didn't want to slap her by the end of the book, which is the highest essayist/memoirist praise I can give. I can't say the same for Erin Chack, whose book is notably not on my completed list, because that mofo most definitely got thrown against the wall and returned to the library ASAP. I'm talking three chapters in ASAP.

Fiction I Enjoyed: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. It has been hyped, and as of writing this there is a movie out that I did not see but wanted to. In essence—yes. Everything you've heard is true. I cried, and thought it was important, and will be very interested in revisiting this in a few years to see if those emotions hold up.
The Little Friend by Donna Tartt, I'd never read Tartt before, and was really glad I started with this novel. It's apparently been held up as her weakest, and I can't yet speak to that (The Secret History has been on my bookshelf for a few months now), but I loved her style. The central mystery was compelling, the tone had an urgency mixed with a pleasing Southern lackadaisical overlay, and Harriet was the kind of cranky child that makes my heart sing. We need more unpleasant girls in literature.
To All the Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han. You know what? I sped through the entire series in a week. I even bought them all, because I didn't want to wait for the library. What can I say? Are they light? Yes. Are they fast reads? Yes. Are they completely, utterly charming? Unequivocally YES.

Comic Corner: This year I caught up on Scott Snyder. I hadn't been loving his latest Batman work, so I let him fade into the background. I finally bought the volume release of Wytches, which was a return to the psychological horror that drew me to his work in the first place.
I also read all three A.D. After Death books, and felt so fulfilled by them. Jeff Lemire's art is incredible, the perfect sketchy starkness with moments of profound glory in certain spreads. But it was Snyder's writing that drew me in. I felt like this was his chance to return to his roots after being a cog in the Batman wheel for so long. These books were barely comics. They were more like illustrated short stories (almost like Snyder's first book, which was just stories, no pictures). The material was thoughtful, and didn't go where I expected it to. I will warn one more time for potential readers—they were like short stories. If you know the popular narrative structure in that form, be prepared.

Books That Disgusted Me: The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter. The first book that made me go, "hmm, I think I'm over white dudes." Add in a white dude who used to be a journalist, and now thinks his story urgently needs to be told? NEXT.
Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling. I'm over Kaling. Her schtick is no longer appealing. It barely was last book, and definitely isn't anymore. There. I said it.

Books That Vaguely Disappointed Me: Turtles All The Way Down by John Green. Am I over John Green? I might be. That being said, I still think this book was an interesting character study, and a great topic to try and tackle. It needed a plot though.
Carrying on the authors-I-championed-and-then-felt-let-down-by train, Genuine Fraud by E. Lockhart. I love The Talented Mr. Ripley as much as anyone, but I don't feel the need to write teen fanfic about it. However, it was very good teen fanfic. I think Lockhart is moving towards I style I don't find as appealing as the Lockhart that first captivated me. With this book and her last, We Were Liars, she's gravitating towards upper-class thrillers. I enjoyed her bubbly-but-introspective teenage girls. I guess I'll go reread Frankie Landau-Banks and The Boyfriend List to get more of that voice.*

*Spoiler: Did it, loved it, totally worth it. Adore those books.

Author Discovery: LIBBA BRAY! My friend Robin recommended Bray to me in 2015, and I am disgusted with the way I slept on her. Go read some Bray. Right now. She's delightful. I'm still not a Bray completist, as she has several series I haven't totally worked my way through, but I would definitely pick up something. My favorites so far have been Beauty Queens (my first) and everything in The Diviners series (which also has a spectacular audiobook, for the record).

THE COMPLETE LIST:

• Imaginary Girls by Nova Ren Suma
• The Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause
• Popular by Maya Van Wagenen
• The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart
• The Love That Split the World by Emily Henry
• The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell
• The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas
• Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling
• Saga vol. 7 by Brian K Vaughan and Fiona Staples
• Saint Anything by Sarah Dessen
• Black Science vol. 3: Vanishing Point by Rick Remender, Matteo Scalara, and Moreno Diniso
• The Fever by Megan Abbott
• Silver Screen Fiend by Patton Oswalt
• Paper Girls by Brian K Vaughan and Cliff Chiang
• A.D. After Death, vol. 1 by Scott Snyder and Jeff Lemire
• A. D. After Death, vol. 2 by Scott Snyder and Jeff Lemire
• A. D. After Death, vol. 3 by Scott Snyder and Jeff Lemire
• Wytches vol. 1 by Scott Snyder and Jock
• The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter
• Kiss Me Like a Stranger by Gene Wilder
• A List Of Cages by Robin Roe
• Today Will be Different by Maria Semple
• Voracious by Cara Nicoletti
• Echo by Pam Munoz Ryan
• The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
• The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
• Seconds by Bryan Lee O'Malley
• Too Fat, Too Slutty, Too Loud by Anne Helen Petersen
• Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya
• Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown
• The Wangs vs.The World by Jade Chang
• The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett
• Haunted Knight by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale
• The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale
• One Day We'll All be Dead and None of This Will Matter by Scaachi Koul
• Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
• To All the Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han
• Tangerine by Edward Bloor
• P.S. I Still Love You by Jenny Han
• A Short Life of Trouble by Marcia Tucker
• Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith
• Always and Forever, Lara Jean by Jenny Han
• The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
• I Was the Jukebox by Sandra Beasley
• All the Lives I Want by Alana Massey
• Black Science vol. 4: Godworld by Rick Remender, Matteo Scalara, and Moreno Diniso
• Beauty Queens by Libba Bray
• Dare to Repair by Julie Sussman and Stephanie Glakas-Tenet
• Talking as Fast as I Can by Lauren Graham
• As You Wish by Cary Elwes
• The Diviners by Libba Bray
• The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead
• Lair of Dreams by Libba Bray
• Turtles All The Way Down by John Green
• Jinx by Sage Blackwood
• Going Bovine by Libba Bray
• My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows
• Everything, Everything by Nicola Yoon
• Genuine Fraud by E. Lockhart
• I Loved Her in the Movies by Robert J. Wagner and Scott Eyman
• Black Science vol. 5: True Atonement by Rick Remender, Matteo Scalara, and Moreno Diniso

Cat in a Cage

I wrote this two weeks ago, almost to the day, during a staff meeting where I felt no other emotional recourse but writing. I'd already excused myself and sprinted around the parking lot twice. That didn't work. I needed to work out the anger some other way, and writing was that way.

"I've thought for a while that your headaches are anxiety related, and that you might want to get medication for that."

So Taylor told me yesterday, after I mentioned my latest headache. I've suffered with monthly headaches—ranging from one week a month to three weeks a month—for seven years. I've seen three doctors about them. I've self-medicated with caffeine and Excedrin. I know my way around a headache.

I was livid.

I've suffered from anxiety (hi grad school!) and I knew that the way I've felt for the past month, past two, no three years, is not related to it. Maybe depression? Or, what I feel more accurate for these days, extreme frustration?

Taylor and I talked it out. I'm lucky to have a spouse who communicates well.

Then I woke up this morning. I read Anne Helen Petersen's latest newsletter. I read this Medium article. I went to work, straight to sitting through a staff meeting about equity. We watched this video on racial literacy. We reflected on where we were in our own personal cultural competency. We looked at our district's statistics on inordinate amounts of disciplinary action against our black and Latino students. We watched videos with Seattle's parents discussing race, about how students feel about their teachers actions, about redlining and classism and the importance of understanding.

I looked around at my fellow teachers. I knew which ones had voted for Trump. I knew which ones only cared about classroom achievement: getting work done, getting good scores on the test, following class rules to the letter. I sat down for small group discussion, and listened to my assistant principal come right out of the gate with "but what about our troubled white students?"

And all I could feel was white-hot rage.

It hasn't passed yet. It fades in and out, static on my emotional radio, but there underneath the fuzz it stands: RAGE. A constant, streaming burn of anger. Dinner is happening too late? RAGE. I feel snubbed by a co-worker? RAGE. I don't get to workout one day? RAGE. My desk at work is too messy? RAGE. My assistant principal devises a stupid game just so that we all have to change seats at a staff meeting? RAGE. Half of one of my classes doesn't turn in their final project? RAGE. The heads of my church recommend that women stay off the Internet for 10 days, all in the wake of a court-appointment that will harm women? RAGE. I have to commute for two hours every day? RAGE. I don't see my kid enough? RAGE. I miss my family? RAGE. I hate my job/doubt my faith/want to live someplace more affordable? ALL THE RAGE.

All of these are typical parts of life. They are things I've been living with, and handling, for multiple years. Annoyances that usually I'm able to brush off or push aside as I go my merry way. And at first I made excuses—I'm getting back into the swing of work, oh this is temporary, things will settle down. I keep waiting for the patience to return. It's not. Instead, a boiling baseline of anger permeates every day. 

Super Trouper

Last night, Alex went down way, and I mean way after her bedtime. The day had been packed with birthday dinner and cupcakes and playing with her cousins/shunning her new bike, and by the end of the night stick a fork in her, she was DONE.

Which strangely worked out in my favor. While going through the bedtime routine, after the stories and songs, Alex did something she hadn't done in months, a gesture that disappeared around the time she started walking a year ago. A moment unmissed until it wasn't there anymore. I finished "Twinkle, Twinkle," and she slid into my elbow. Her body curled up against my chest, and her hand reached up to clutch at my collarbone, a tiny fist grasping the security of a body she once knew as her own. That deep snuggle was the snuggle of my baby, a baby that was already gone. I cuddled her closer, enjoying the intimate pose of trust.

And then she thunderously farted.

And that is Alex, age two. Unbearable sweetness, measured with hilarity (and stubbornness) all her own.

Alex, age two, loves to learn. She's quick, and interested, and has amazing stamina for following
through on concepts. I have no idea where she picks these things up. I suspect she has a good brain for quick memorization and utilization. After all, I'm not sitting down and going over letters and numbers with her, yet somehow she has them. All praise Sesame Street. Meanwhile, I do work with her on colors, and every time she is asked to identify "green" she looks at me like I'm insane, because that is not a color or name she's ever heard, ever, in her life. Go figure.

Alex, age two, loves music. She sings herself to sleep. She sings herself awake. She sings to herself while playing, eating, getting a diaper change. My new piano is no longer mine, but hers alone.* One of her first words was "pick," and she will search the floors for guitar picks so she can strum the guitars around the house. She's become quite a proficient booty-shaker, and loses her mind when her favorite song (by her favorite band, much to my chagrin, thanks but no thanks Taylor) comes on. She's also memorized a handful of Big Block Singsongs, and will bust out the moose and the monkey songs pretty often. True, they sound like gibberish to the untrained ear, but she keeps practicing.

Alex, age two, loves looking. She doesn't often sleep on car rides, because what's beyond her window is far too fascinating. When she wakes up, she wants her curtains open so she can see the cars and bikes and buses and wave hello.** In new situations she goes quiet, with an almost frightening stare of intensity, but she's just observing. She looks at what's happening for a while. Once she gets a handle on things, she throws herself full-bore in to the fray.

Alex, age two, gives me hope in future Alex. My wish for her is to keep this curiosity, this willingness to try, this passion for the richness life offers.

This morning, Taylor and I took her for another, vastly more successful spin on her new bike. At one point, after multiple warnings and attempts to move her away from the curb, Alex took a tumble. The crash scared her. There might have been a few sobs. Then she grasped those handlebars in her still-baby-chubby hands, and got right back on the bike. No hesitation, absolutely rejecting help from us, she could do it. She wanted to do it.

Alex, age two, you've got all you need. With all your loves, you can build something great. I can't wait to see where other years take you.

I love you, Cheeks McGee. Happy Birthday.

1. 2.

*If I dare to play in her presence, whether she's by me or not, she'll rush over to the piano with a worried chorus of "no, no, no," before gently (but firmly) dragging my hands off the keys.
**Oh, how this girl waves hello. At everyone, and everything, at all times. One of my first mother-heartbreaks is watching her cheerily reach out with her hellos, and having people ignore or not acknowledge her. I know that will happen to her over and over--her putting herself out there with friendship, and being rejected. That being said, I do hope she continues in her cheery persistence. Even if it makes grocery shopping a bit of a timesuck/pain.

Awake My Soul

I just sat on a dark deck, drinking in a thunderstorm. Lightning, thunder, warm torrents of water. The whole shebang.

I don't recognize how much I miss something until it directly confronts me. I knew I missed deserts and mountains, but it wasn't until the dusky scent of petrichor that I realized how long it's been since I had a summer storm, how majestic warm rain can be, how soul-electrifying it feels to witness light crack the sky.

These magical re-awakenings are gifts. Sometimes they are instances gifted after years, like tonight's storm. Sometimes, they are more systemic but no less surprising—like every July and August, when I meet myself again. The school year has a way of wearing me down to my barest elements. Out of survival, I retreat. I become an automaton: wake up, drive, plan, present, grade, drive, Alex, eat, sleep, repeat.

In the summer, I meet Cat. I usually only emerge after a solid week of sleep, sleep sudden and deep and always disorienting. Twelve hour nights. Naps, grabbed in cars and couches and movies. Quick descents moments after putting Alex in her crib, unconscious before she stops burbling to herself.

After that vicious game of catch-up, my brain awakes for the first time in months. I ADORE having a brain again. Knowing I am capable of thought and innovation and creativity blindsides me every time, since I've usually spent the past six months or so mourning its death and resigning myself to a life of boring mediocrity.*

So begins a whirlwind two months of discovery. Desperately, I try to stockpile experiences and explorations and epiphanies, hoping that some will sustain me through the next ten months. Maybe, just maybe, this will be the year I carry it with me all year long.

Here are a few things that bolster that hope, things I will try to jealous-guard against the school-year-soul-strip:

-Morning yoga in Maine

-Coastal scramblings
-Engaged veterans, those people who feed their brains so they, in turn, feed others
-Meeting a brain twin, a synced spirit long after I'd abandoned hope in such a person
-Water and rocks
-Reading, both for myself in for Alex
-Alex, all games, letters, numbers, bikes, penguins, happysaddramaticponderous
-Conversations with friends from a decade ago
-Interest in building new friendships
-Finding people interesting
-Story ideas

-Mountains: dust, deer, floral against sheer rock, still lakes and whispering aspens
-Family history, from blood to chosen bonds
-City walks and talks with my love. Encountering each other in daytime. Spending more than an hour together
-Brick houses, porch columns, hot cement
-An internal running commentary that makes me laugh, shake my head, and drives me to record snippets
-Writing, writing, writing, writing, writing...

*And no amount of pep talks convince me otherwise, Taylor. Although I do appreciate the effort.

New Year, Same Me

This is me, being 29.

There was only one aspect of my birthday I obsessively planned. No, it wasn't presents or dinner or an activity or anything that would fill my day with wonder.* For months, I mentally prepared my birthday breakfast. Trader Joe's chocolate croissants. I'd eyed their promised gooey chocolate filling and flaky crusts for months. Several times I'd almost bought them on impulse, but the overnight proofing process always thrust me back to sensibility.

But aren't birthdays made to shake off the sensible?

So I held off on the purchase, promising that a boring Tuesday birthday would at least be blessed with pastry. So I waited. Then bought. Then ate. And it was OK. Not the most incredible thing I've eaten, but perfectly satisfactory.

Source

Sometimes, I feel like that's life as I get older. It's not a non-stop adventure. A lot of things I pictured as I aged—being a respected artist, or a leader in a community, or a voice people listen to—are yet to happen. My life at this moment is not incredible. It's not a croissant from the corner bakery in Paris. My life is a perfectly satisfactory Trader Joe's chocolate croissant, a fine experience with shots of hot-melted sweetness.

Listening to a forever favorite as my first song of the year, then starting a playlist of all my signature songs? Sweetness.

Driving over Lake Washington into the blaze of the rising sun? Sweetness.

The students who brought me gifts and handmade posters, all of their own volition? Sweetness.

Taylor remembering the concert I'd told him about months ago and getting tickets? Sweetness.

Seattle deciding to be summer for a week, gifting me with sun, and 80° temperatures, and a chance to take a walk/longboard with my husband and kid in the evening? Ultimate sweetness.

I'll take 29. I'll savor it. Maybe I'll plan for incrementally more. Next year, I'll plan breakfast and lunch. And with those expectations, as with the rest of my existence, I hope to be pleasantly surprised.

28. 27. 26. 25.

*In fact, I didn't plan anything to do on the day. Taylor kept asking me what I wanted for dinner, and I had no clue. People would ask me what I was doing to celebrate, and I'd shrug. For the most part, this was an unplanned event. Which kind of worked. Honestly, I do think the key to a happy life is low expectations.

2017: On the Screen

Total Movies Watched: 68. Yep. Lowest amount in years. Well. Then.

Honestly, I'm OK with the reduced number this year. Because I saw less, I truly valued and was discerning with the movies I did watch. I think I viewed some beautiful films this year.

With the exception of The Accountant. That movie was AWFUL. But everything else was at least on a scale from exceptional to slightly disappointing.

Favorite Movies Released in 2017:
-Logan. This might be the very top of my list. A beautiful, sad, thoughtful movie.
-LEGO Batman
-Baby Driver. I didn't think I'd be able to even watch Ansel Elgort, let alone be charmed by him. Yet there I was! I credit the musicality of the film with 87% of that.
-The Big Sick
-Wonder Woman. I cried.
-Lady Bird
-The Shape of Water. Brought up all those floaty, lovely feelings. Slightly reminiscent of the sweet nostalgia of Amelie, but with that monster movie twist. Loved it.

Movies I Watched By Myself in Theaters: 
-Lion
-The Big Sick
-Blade Runner 2049
-Lady Bird
-The Shape of Water

Animated Movies that are Gorgeous and Beautiful and Everyone Should See:
-Kubo and the Two Strings. Stunning modeling. I want to frame so many stills.
-Moana. I cried. Yep.
-Song of the Sea

Movies I Watched for Halloween:
-The Cell. I'd never seen it before, and it was visually remarkable and incredibly disturbing. Also, aren't we glad that Hollywood didn't stay on the Vince Vaughn as a marketable serious star?
-Okja. Further proof that I always enjoy Paul Dano.
-Dracula (1931). I'd never seen it before, and it's gorgeous.
-The Witches of Eastwick. Meh. Although, Cher is magnetic. I think I may be a fan of her as a movie star, based on the two movies I've seen.

Movies Sticking With Me:
-Hidden Figures. Strong women doing amazing things? Sign me up.
-10 Cloverfield Lane. I don't know why Abrams and Co. are tenuously connecting these movies together with the events of Cloverfield, and I don't know if I support it. But I do believe that this is one of the more intense kidnap thrillers I've seen.
-Get Out. I'm standing behind everything said and written about it. You go, Jordan Peele.
-Captain Fantastic. I didn't love the movie, but it was thought-provoking. Shows how misguided some otherwise admirable qualities can be.
-Split. James McAvoy is a wonder (obligatory remember when I met him mention). I'm also surprisingly OK with the story continuation hinted at towards the end.

Clint Eastwood Movies:
-Play Misty for Me. Sneaking it in right before the end of the year.

THE COMPLETE LIST:

• Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
• Labyrinth
• Hidden Figures
• Burn After Reading
• Dope
• Lion
• LEGO Batman (x2)
• Singing in the Rain
• John Wick: Chapter Two
• 10 Cloverfield Lane
• Logan (x3)
• What We Do in the Shadows
• Magic Mike
• Captain Fantastic
• Deconstructing the Beatles Revolver
• Up in the Air
• Kubo and the Two Strings
• A History of Violence
• The Aquatic Life of Steve Zissou
• Alien: Covenant
• LEGO Batman
• Midnight in Paris
• Atlantis: the Lost Empire
• Shaun of the Dead
• The Godfather, pt. 1
• Wonder Woman
• Moana
• Baby Driver
• Moonlight
• Tropic Thunder
• The African Queen
• Bronson
• Song of the Sea
• The Big Sick
• An American Werewolf in London
• The Beatles Eight Days a Week
• The Road to El Dorado
• The Maltese Falcon
• Dunkirk
• Tour de Pharmacy
• Speed
• The Incredible Jessica James
• The Nice Guys
• St. Elmo's Fire
• Finding Dory
• The Cell
• La La Land
• Trolls
• Blade Runner 2049
• Okja
• Dracula (1931)
• The Witches of Eastwick
• Get Out
• Lady Bird
• Eagles of Death Metal: Nos Amis
• Queen of Versailles
• Split
• Thor: Ragnarok
• Kong: Skull Island
• Star Wars: The Last Jedi
• The Accountant
• A Muppet Christmas Carol
• Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 2
• Play Misty For Me
• The Shape of Water
• The Raid: Redemption

Years in the Rearview

I haven't done a year in review since 2014.

OK, let's speed round this thing.

2015: The year of getting back on my feet.

Victorious!

Yes, it took the entire year. But although nine of the twelve months were spent with no steady paycheck and about 20 dollars in the bank, I loved 2015. I loved graduating with my Masters in journalism, an experience that filled me with unanticipated pride and excitement. I loved my internship at City Arts and having time to exercise. I loved seeing theatre and busing around and listening to podcasts while doing data entry. I loved interviewing people in crazy locations (like the roof of city hall!) and sizing up classrooms around Bellevue and Issaquah. It was a warm year in Seattle, with an insanely hot and dry summer, and I felt like the entire city was gifting me health and happiness after the mindwarp of Boston.

2016: The year of the incubator.

Man, pregnancy ravaged my appearance.
Pictures from 2016 hit that home.

This year is mostly a blur. That might have something to do with the whole "growing a human being" part of the year. I found out I was pregnant the first week of December 2015, and gave birth the first week of August 2016. So much of my year was spent with my pregnancy—and my desperate attempts to not think about my pregnancy, since I wasn't totally comfortable with it as a concept—forefront in my mind. In that sense, although it was arguably my most productive year, it was also one where I was not myself. I wasn't in control of my timeline, or my actions, or even my own body (which in retrospect, felt like and was constantly betraying me). I went to work, and sat, and grew something. Something that was gorgeous and completely worth it, but even after having Alex, 2016 was spent adjusting to this new role. I had very little control over this year. It feels like the slightest blip. I imagine it will seem even more minuscule further into the future.

2017: The year of settled

Feeling good.

Finally. This year, it seemed to all click. It was the first time in a decade I'd lived in the same apartment for over a year. It was the first time since 2010 I'd had a job for more than a year. As Alex crossed over into her second year of life, I realized that I knew what it was like to be a mother and to have a family unit. As a teacher, I was able to start a second year teaching the same curriculum and realized hey, maybe I don't suck as a teacher. I still...don't...really...love it, but it's becoming comfortable and I can say with confidence that I'm decently effective.

I feel like I have a grasp on the day-to-day act of living instead of constantly waiting. Waiting for a job. Waiting for financial stability. Waiting for a kid. Waiting for the next big thing. Now, I'm not waiting for life to begin. I'm just living, which is a lovely place to be. Coasting in the current is infinitely preferred to swimming against it.

2018: The year of future hopes

Bring it on, 2018.

Now that I'm all "settled," there's no need to rest on any laurels. That was 2017. I had that year. Now I can push for more, as always. I have hopes for the future, not in a "I wish I was there already and can't wait for that to happen" way, but in a "let's start doing the things I want for the future" way. Taylor and I started an exercise habit last year, which has been shockingly wonderful.* I'm starting to think about the food habits I'm passing on to Alex, and becoming better friends with produce and tofu. Speaking of passing things to Alex, I want her to see her parents as whole people, people who participate in the world around them. It's rough for me to force myself out of the house. It's easy to get into work-Alex-sleep mode. But I don't want her to think that everything is work, or everything is just family. I want her to care about others, to make good friends, to actually do the things that interest her. I'm responsible for modeling that. This year, I want to start becoming the type of person I want my kid to be.

That may be the most domestic thing I've ever written/said/thought.

I'm standing by it. In the quest to be whole, in 2018 I want to:

• Do something for myself every week, and have that thing be completely away from my family. 
• Write. Send my writing someplace (with the hopes of getting published again this year).
• Read half of Jesus the Christ.
• Become a director completist. I hope to keep this every year. For now I'm starting small, and will be watching every film by Guillermo del Toro.**
• Run a 5k.
• Do increasing push-ups every week.
• Learn how to do a headstand (heyyyyy, yoga).
• Try ten recipes from the Italian cookbook I got for Christmas.
• Go to a movie at the EMP. Fine, at the MoPOP.***

Here's to 2018, and the quest for extension outside the comfort zone. 

*I never thought I'd feel so good after working out. Ugh. It's like I'm one of those people who gets an exercise glow. I'm one step away from preaching the benefits of proper protein and form. Somebody stop me!
**I'm going to exclude films I've already seen, unless I want to watch them again. Because I have ZERO desire to see Pacific Rim again. There. I said it.
***I will never get over that name change. At least, not for another year or so.