My "Things I Know About Myself" List

Also, hi there, hello

I changed the name of my newsletter. It’s a Mary Oliver reference. You probably knew that. While I always have plenty of reading recommendations and rants, I found that I rarely have much to say about writing, and I’m trying to dial down the consumerism around here (I can hear my wife laughing before I even press publish) so I’m hesitant to post MORE THINGS! for people to buy.

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Hello, friends. I hope you are well. It has been a while since I’ve been here. The most important and heartbreaking news is that my mother-in-law died last week. I had the privilege of being present at the end of her life. It was hard and sad, but it was also a relief to know she was no longer suffering.

After returning home, Other Amy and I moved some of my mother-in-law’s stuff into our garage, and I threw my back out. I iced my back, took Advil, and used the heating pad; I was sure I’d be as good as new moments later. Instead, for the next 48 hours, I couldn’t walk or move without spasms so painful I cried. I’ve been on a steady diet of rest, ice, stretches and strengthening exercises from my physical therapist, and anti-inflammatory drugs. My doctor placed me off work (as it turns out, walking, standing, and speaking without wanting to cry is essential when you’re an educator). I feel stuck in a liminal space, with grief, missing work, and being forced to see holiday nonsense at every turn.

If your inbox is anything like mine, you’re being bombarded by Black Friday sales and tempted to shop for everyone and yourself. I am not immune to a good deal; however, I am trying to be better about not buying random crap as a panacea for the world we live in and the attendant Bad Feelings ™️ it brings about. I’m also seeing a lot about a Winter Arc and New Year’s energy and all of those fun things that are all about “fixing” yourself (one of my favorite hobbies, to be honest) while masquerading as something else.

Something I’ve been doing for a while now, and I’m currently revisiting, is keeping a “Things I Know About Myself” list on my phone. It looks something like this:

I’ve been living with myself for nearly 42 years now, and I know some things will always be true for me. I buy at least one paper planner every year, and I never, ever use it. I have never and will never complete an e-course of any kind. I loathe leaving my house during the school year for a social event, so booking myself solid is a great way to ruin my week and hurt people I love by canceling. I think graphic tees with words on the chest are so fun! And yet, I never know where I’m supposed to wear them or how to style them. Pass.

There are more things on this list. Some are silly and inconsequential (“whenever you think you want a wild manicure color, you don’t”) and more serious (“don’t waste your energy on people who don’t reciprocate your efforts”).

I keep this on my phone because a few times a year, I decide that I am going to become a different person. I get a wild hare that I should start “dressing more creatively” and buy $500 worth of Nooworks dresses (cute on others, not for me!) or think that this e-course will be different or that a paper planner will help me get my life under control, I know it. I start thinking about a life where I keep a fantastic, artsy, creative journal and buy a billion stickers and cool markers to enjoy in my new life as a Crafty Girl. I see an ad for Orangetheory and start browsing the class schedule, somehow forgetting that I’ve signed up for a membership there at least 15 times, and in reality, I hate rowing machines and bro-y coaches. I decide that I’m going to become Someone Who Enjoys Camping and start looking at REI in earnest!

It never works. In truth, I like writing on my little MacBook Air or in an Appointed Notebook. I like my spin classes. I always prefer jeans, a black shirt, and a clog to any other outfit. Crafty journaling and creativity are fun for about five minutes, but I am way too much of a perfectionist, and I want to spend any creative time I have writing. My ideal vacation might include a lovely, picturesque hike, but I like sleeping inside, with air conditioning, a big cozy bed, preferably room service; even better, I like exploring a big city with fancy food and Ubers at my disposal or sitting by a pool while someone brings me nachos and virgin mango drinks.

This desire to always be changing (ABC, baby!) and fix myself directly results from being raised religiously, at least for me. Being told that you were born evil and need to constantly strive to be a better Christian and human all the time can leave you feeling off-balance and unsure of yourself. I spent most of my childhood and adolescent years trying to tamp down my real personality so I didn’t get in trouble at church. As a result, I’m quick to assume that my natural inclinations are wrong and that I would be “better” if I could change two or five or one hundred things about myself.

My silly little list is an excellent way to remind me who I actually am instead of who I think I should be. When I open up the Nooworks website, think I want a donut, or start researching the perfect planner, I can get in touch with the person I am and, most of the time, hold off on buying something new or forcing myself to be something I’m not.

I’ve been thinking about this as it broadly applies to who I am as a person, but also in terms of who I am as a writer. I am reasonably confident I’m done querying my memoir — it’s either not the time, it’s not very good, or maybe it’s just not hitting. I think of how I tried to make my story profound and inspiring and to wrap everything up with a neat twist on my first go-around. On my second try, I leaned into being funny, weird, and off-beat, hoping it would distinguish me from other memoirists. Neither approach was successful, and while I don’t think it’s that people couldn’t get my ~*essence*~ is genuinely why the book didn’t work out, I can see that neither is the truth of who I am.

As I lean into creating new work, I’m reading like a fiend and trying to figure out the je ne sais quoi the books I love possess. I’m also trying to find it in myself. I find that slightly mortifying to admit, seeing as I am Quite Old, but I don’t think I’m “finding myself” as much as I’m “allowing myself” to be who I am in all things on and off the page.

What would be on your list? I hope you’ll tell me.