Perhaps it was the springtime pagan fertility vibes of Easter. Perhaps it was the beginning of a new month. Perhaps it was because April is National Poetry Month. Perhaps it was the odd coincidence that on Sunday (3/31) I used up the very last page in my writing journal – which, when I looked back, was started on April 1, 2023 (I hadn’t planned on completing it in almost exactly a year…) For a number of different reasons, I’ve been feeling the urge to bring more routine and order into my life. To set an alarm in the morning. To set timers and dedicate specific hours to writing, and reading, and editing, and submitting poems to journals. To exercise at roughly the same time each day, etc. etc. And, as often happens, Sunday night’s urge was ignored by Monday morning’s reality. I did not set an alarm. I did not sit down and read or write or edit first thing in the morning. I set no timers, I built no structure.
Ever since leaving my more routine-driven life in Pennsylvania where I had a job, a commute, and a dog to look after, I’ve adopted a lifestyle that says I’ll do whatever strikes my fancy whenever it strikes my fancy – with some very strict guardrails placed around what I allow to strike my fancy (mostly economic restrictions). I wake up when my body tells me to wake up. I go for a run when I feel like going for a run. I job search when the mood strikes me. I apply to jobs when I feel inspired by the position. I write when I want to write. I try to get outside a few times a day – walks to the water or through town and a walk after dinner. Despite really enjoying it, the problem I’m finding with such a laissez-faire approach to living is that it’s far too easy to get distracted by distracting things like social media. Without a plan, it’s far too easy to let a day (or several) slip away. It’s far too easy to lose time in the decision-making process. The note written on my phone just before going to bed last night was that I’d like to live more deliberately.
Yesterday being April 1 (the start of poetry month), I wanted to set for myself some writing, editing, and submitting goals. A person I took an online workshop with a year or two ago is hosting a group on Facebook where the goal is to write a new poem every day during the month of April. While the thought of doing something like that had crossed my mind, it felt a little too ambitious to go from zero poems a month to thirty. I didn’t join. I then thought maybe I can play it loose and do “something” related to poetry every day this month (write, edit, read). That felt too easy – I already read a few poems every day and write something (maybe not a poem) almost every day.
The day passed and I hadn’t set a goal. I did just enough reading and writing (I started a new journal) that I could still set a goal and retroactively count April 1, but I felt a little disappointed in myself. Here, on April 2, I’m still struggling to come up with a meaningful goal or goals. I set an alarm (which was a step), but I turned it off and went back to sleep. I managed to get up an hour earlier than I usually do and instead of reading the news or social media, I’m writing this silly little thing – which is also a step in the right direction. But beyond that, the day ahead looks no more or less structured than the past dozen or two dozen days have been.
Part of the problem is that I don’t seem to know how my mind works. I don’t know what an effective (for me) writing routine looks like. If I knew that reading first thing in the morning would inspire me to write, I’d have a plan of action… but sometimes reading has the opposite effect. Sometimes, reading good poetry makes me feel incompetent and incapable. If I knew that I hated editing in the evening, I might have a plan of action – but as best as I can tell, I always hate editing. And maybe this needs to be the goal: to experiment with structures and routines until I land on some things that work (or mostly works); to pay attention to what inspires, when, and how. Is it sitting outside, is it just after reading, is it before coffee, after a run?
Looking back to things I’ve written on or around this day a year, or even four years ago… It’s a lot of the same hand-wringing over not being dedicated and disciplined enough. It’s almost 7:30am on April 2. The sun is shining through thin and wispy clouds. Easter, a day that symbolizes rebirth and renewal, was two days ago, and two days into poetry month, I’m still struggling with my own minor poetic and artistic resurrections.
I suppose I should just get on with it. Maybe that’s the poem I can work on today – the groggy indecision Jesus felt upon his resurrection. Jesus sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, being self-critical, checking stone tablet newspapers for work (nope, no carpenter jobs today), Jesus considering a career change, peeking out to check the weather and trying to decide which sandals to wear, coming up with a self-improvement plan and immediately ignoring it, Jesus trying to psych himself up, giving himself little pep talks.