Maybe This Isn't That Season For Me (Or You)
Why I'm not joining the zero-dark-thirty camp any time soon.
Image by Peggychoucair from Pixabay
I'm trying to get more comfortable with saying, "I am not currently in a season where I can accomplish this thing, but that is not a reflection on my character."
One of the most popular Tips for Writers With Busy Lives is to get up early and write before the rest of the household is awake. I’ve seen it repeated in almost every article I’ve read about making time for writing when you have kids, and it makes a lot of sense– utilize that time when no one else is making demands of you (yet) but you aren’t exhausted from a long day. I’ve often read this advice with a pang of guilt, because I don’t do this. Quite frankly, I have no desire to do this.
At this stage of my life as a parent, getting up at 5:00 AM to write is unrealistic because I still have a small child who has trouble sleeping through the night. When I go to bed, I have no idea how much uninterrupted rest I’m going to get before my alarm goes off, and many years of grumpy breakfasts have taught me I am simply not a bright and shining morning person. So for now, I squeeze every second I can get out of my time in bed. Does that make me a lazy and unambitious writer? Maybe it does in the eyes of the people who get up at 5:00 every morning (more power to them!) but I’m in a season of life where I don’t really care what they think. I’ll write when I can, and I’ll sleep through a 5:00 alarm with nary a blink. (No, seriously. You can ask my husband. I’ve slept through more alarms than a main character on a sitcom.)
I’d like to write more in 2023, sure. But I still have a toddler and soon I’ll have an infant. I’m not currently in a season where the 5:00 AM Writers’ Club is accessible to me–and I probably won’t be anytime soon–but I’m okay with that. My limited time for creativity is not a reflection of my character. Instead, I’ll guard the time I have and work on being happy with what I am able to do.
We’re just on the cusp of a new year, a time rife with resolutions and plans for new beginnings. But I think it’s a time when it’s important to take stock of the last year, too, to be realistic about where we’ve been and how far we’ve come, and what we’re truly capable of in the next twelve months.
I’m not trying to burst your confetti-at-midnight bubbles. If you are determined that 2023 is going to be the best year yet, that it will sweep aside all the sadness and loss and inadequacy and disappointment of 2022, then I will be by your side cheering you on. Some of us will take hold of grand success in this new year, and I am all for that– but some of us will still move along pretty much as we were last year, and I want to make sure you know that is okay too.
It’s a new year, yes, but I’m still the same me, and you are still the same you. Making room for growth and blossoming– in character, in discipline, and in personal achievement– in the new year ought to come from a place of gentleness, not force. Acknowledging the limits of the person you were last year (and still are!) will help you set achievable goals for that same person this year.
As I’m looking forward to writing new things in 2023, I’m consciously trying to stay away from specific number goals (i.e. “submit 50 essays” or “write 30,000 words of fiction”) since the second, third, and fourth quarters of this year are uncharted territory for me. Will I be able to write anything at all with two kids two and under? Who even knows? But I’m going to give myself grace for the season I’m in, and remind myself– even at inadvertent 5:00 AM wakeups, because babies gotta eat–that what I’m able to accomplish isn’t a reflection of my character.
But if I think of a really good sentence in the middle of a predawn nursing session, I’ll definitely jot it down.