one/thirty-one/twenty-one

I started the month with the goal to show up in this space daily, the thought being that it would dust off the cobwebs, grease the gears, rattle loose the brain debris that always feels to sit lodged between me and a regular writing habit. Turns out though- it's the demands of my children and our home and the life we've chosen to pursue- it's all of that more than it ever was a lack of effort on my part to carve out this very specific thing I want for myself. I would choose them all again and again- the children, the house, the homestead -but. But. There is a chronic nagging that that final piece, the writing or teaching or the side hustle rooted in my creative endeavors, is so damn elusive. It feels silly- but I had thought I might have some answers by the end of January. Perhaps February, then?