January didn’t go well.
I mean, it kind of did. I wrote a very short piece of fiction and posted it on the blog. I had a birthday and lived through it. My two kids are awesome and my family is as healthy as usual, and I got to spend some time with friends.
But I failed both with moving 20 minutes a day and writing 30 minutes a day every day of January. I hit maybe five days total. Does this sound familiar to you? It sounds like every single story I’ve heard from disenchanted New Year’s Resolution-setters, and it is not unfamiliar to me, either.
Here’s the thing, though. I failed, but I also succeeded. I went for several really great walks which felt amazing, and I haven’t done that in a really long time. I didn’t do it every day, but I did it a few times, and it was good. I wrote a bit more on a story I had thought would be done by Christmas, and those are words that my undiagnosed, depression-prone head wouldn’t have otherwise cared about getting done.
So a fail, but a win.
I’m going to not think about February tomorrow until February hits tomorrow, because today was enough.
What I will say is this: write more and move more are still good goals.