Well, #BlogEveryDayinArgentina went bust. But that’s alright. Habit-forming isn’t streak-keeping, it’s going back to work after a day of rest.
When I set out to form habits, it’s always something discipline-oriented. Do Duolingo every day. Do yoga every night. Swipe it off my to-do list app and feel like a machine.
But I’m not a machine, and I need better habits.
Habits like: notice your joy.
Habits like: leave Friday nights open.
Habits like: write fiction like no one will read it. And then let them.
Habits like: pray in your own words.
And go out of your way not to wear a blazer in the office.
Habits like ask for what you want, and accept the response graciously, because this is grace, everything that fuels your life. Make a habit of saying yes to her.
My friends don’t believe me when I say nice things about them. I’m concerned about that.
I surround myself with people who are better than me because I’m hoping it will rub off. I recommend this strategy. I was the best player on the worst soccer team and it got me nowhere. At this point I’m alright riding the bench, watching you work, copying your moves, and hoping for the best.
One of my worst qualities is my inability to say what I don’t mean. I should like to. It’s an essential professional skill.
But I don’t have it yet, so while I’m young and brash, please just believe me when I am kind to you.
I can’t say that with a straight face, I’m sorry, young, like twenty-three isn’t rent-paying life-making God-following age, like I haven’t already outlived my confirmation saint, like fractions are friendly fictions and there’s no progress bar.
I’m not young, but all my friends have gotten older, and sometimes I wish they’d always see me like this, joyful, silly, unfinished, because there’s a hope in that, a promise.
It’s not that I disdain my youth, it’s just I don’t believe it.
When I think of youth I think of summer, plaid, and closed worlds, everything I need in front of me.
But that’s not what people mean, is it? They mean open lives, undetermined, a little embarrassing, a little melodramatic.
The other day a guy said to me: no busco un proyecto. I appreciated his honesty.
Pero es que soy un proyecto, y te invito.
Demand more of me this year, people.
I’ve been so focused on writing more, instead of writing better.
I’ve been so focused on writing better, instead of living better.