Junk Drawer

I write to self-soothe, to process, to figure out what I think about something, to preserve a moment, to capture a feeling, to pass the time.

I can feel when I’m tapping into my gut, revealing something to myself, finding the words to say what I mean. I am open, vulnerable, malleable, eager, electric.

Writing has felt all the more necessary through the world-expanding, self-shattering, entirely common and completely mundane experience of becoming a mother. To document my new day-to-day minutiae, process this new reality, and capture the detail of the time.

Every day I’m scared of time passing and forgetting. Each stage feels so vivid and unforgettable until the next one when it blends into the blur of months that came before. Writing allows me to step inside a moment and walk around inside—extend it for as long as I need to, capture as much as I can before the present calls me back.

I use writing to challenge time and time challenges my writing. I’ve always thought about sharing. Sometimes I like what I’ve come up with and want others to read it. I have flirted with and then abandoned the idea of an audience for years already. Now time passes in stranger ways than ever—the minutes are long, but the months slip away. If I don’t try something new, I’ll stay stuck in the wondering, which only gets stickier with the days that are suddenly weeks and then years.

Which is why I’m trying this, now, here. Writing and publishing something every day for the month of June. Today is the sixth, I’ve already failed, it’s no longer possible for this to go perfectly. With unpredictable nap length windows to write, and a daily deadline, I’m hoping I won’t have time to overthink, over-edit, let the idea of “what it could be” stop me from starting.