Hello there. Sorry I’ve been away for a while. I guess you could say I needed a little rest, but you could also say that I’ve been afraid of the blank page as of late. Really, I guess you could say both.
Like everyone, of course, I’m reflecting on the past year. Mostly, I am trying not to be disappointed or frustrated, which is difficult, as I feel I’ve been mostly disappointed and frustrated all of 2022. I looked back at the list of goals I made this time last year, and it reads so much more like a bucket list to the point that it’s almost laughable. There were so many things I had wanted to do, hoped to do, some that were out of my reach through no fault of my own, and some things I simply let fall to the wayside while trying to keep my head above water. Or while being lazy. I often feel so, so lazy. So lacking in discipline.
There is no china cabinet in the dining room, no fully-stocked and impressive bar (though the glassware has multiplied, of course). Projects went unrealized, stashed away on a shelf to maybe be looked at again later, but also maybe not. Once again, I feel like I have ended the year with nothing tangible to show for it, only unrealized ideas and some vague tangled mess of memories.
And yet.
In my office/guest room is a bookshelf in pieces, waiting for me to put it together this afternoon. All of my books are finally going to be on the shelf, something that previously seemed like an impossible task. The back wall of my living room is covered with art I’ve collected in the salon style I love; it’s perhaps the most wall space I’ve taken up in any apartment I’ve ever lived in. Finally, everything is not stashed in a box. This week, I had a friend over who, standing in my kitchen while I made coffee, said unprompted, “Your house really is lovely. I think you should be proud.”
In 2022, my house wasn’t always clean. My washing machine broke. There was the period of cat urine in every imaginable corner of the house. This week, my hot water pipes froze and I spent a few spare hours standing outside holding a space heater to them. But daily maintenance of the space, notwithstanding household catastrophe, has gotten easier. More meditative. The practice has become more automatic, though it happened slowly.
Perhaps this was a year of things happening slowly.
I know that I could work harder. I know that I could be more disciplined. I am still searching for the balance between allowing myself to rest and working hard for what I want, not just expecting it to fall in my lap. I don’t think anyone ever gets it completely right. So maybe this was a year of getting just a little closer, gradually, to getting it more right.
I think this year of putting together this newsletter has more closely linked my writing to my idea of the home, and to my understanding of myself. These things that are already intertwined are now more tightly braided together. When I talk about discipline and hard work, I am speaking all at once about maintenance of self, of my home, of my writing. I often struggle to maintain all three of them at once, but I think considering them together has made it easier to take stock. If anything, this first year of this newsletter has helped with that.
In terms of this newsletter, I haven’t always stuck to the schedule I set for myself, and that frustrates me. But I have always come back to it. And when I have maintained it, occasionally, the writing has spoken to someone, connected with them in an unexpected way. Really, that is all I can hope for. If you read anything published in this newsletter this year, if you subscribed to it, if you shared it with anyone, I offer you my sincerest thanks. Of all the mundanity and turbulence of 2022, this space has made me proud, even when I haven’t given it the attention I should.
I think there’s much to look forward to in 2023, though I’m trying not to be overly ambitious. I’m also trying to play everything close to the chest. I am committing to Elle Nash’s superstition to not speak on anything until no one can stop it from happening, or, “not speaking of things before they’re finished,” as Julia Fox said earlier this year. The good news is, in spite of the difficulties of this year, many of them of my own making, the ideas have never stopped coming. I have so, so many ideas. The next step is just execution.
In three days, it will be the New Year, and my house will be full of friends and acquaintances and people I love. There will be a build your own French 75 bar and spinach artichoke dip. I wanted to attend a party, so I’m planning a party, goddammit. Perhaps the thing to remember as 2022 closes is that there are still things to look forward to. In fact, there are always things to look forward to. But only if you make them happen.