oh right, I have a Substack

this is the post to get me over 65 days of not sending anything

Hi. How are you? I hope well.

It’s been a while. 65 days to be exact.

I was motivated in early December. I had planned out posts for every week until the end of January and had ideas and titles for almost every one of them. I was excited about them and had the energy for it too.

And then I hit a wall around mid-December. I was tired. And also took on a hefty design project that had to take precedence because that is how I pay the fees to be alive on this planet.

It’s been a weird past 65 days. A lot has happened. Life can be a lot sometimes, yeah?

I have designed books. I have slept. I have eaten. I have traveled. I have spent time with loved ones. I have watched movies. I have celebrated the new year and a 7th anniversary. I have sourced items for my small business. We started to take photos of those items, and then a phone call came. I have visited family in the hospital. I have given hugs. I have supported. I have watched, listened to, and read the news. I have taken photos. I have designed some more. I have swept. Mopped. Scrubbed. Scraped. Vaccumed. Washed. Remade. Folded. Rearranged. Cleared. Returned home.

I’ve had 30 drafts in my Substack at the moment and have started to hate all of them. So I’m archiving them, and will return to them at some point in the future. I’d like to share a couple of sentences that were my favorite, though:

~ From my 30 years on this earth, my understanding of getting those sorts of calls is: you can always feel it coming, but it likely won’t be what you expected to hear.

~ I have never been a good liar.

~ I know better now. But it hurt then.

~ His t-shirts keep going through the wash, and I keep tossing them back into the hamper because I have no idea what to do with them.

~ How do we stay? How do we deal with the grief of existing within this intricate map of the places we live, the places we spent time together—with the people who are no longer with us?

~ I failed PSYCH101 in college. I should have gone to class.

~ My parents met on an airplane. My father, a pilot. My mother, a flight attendant. Is it any wonder I have always felt untethered?

~ I saw my 8-year-old niece try boba for the first time. Her imagined love and obsession for a drink she had never tried quickly faded as she bit into the first tapioca bubble.

Anyways, this post isn’t much but to get me writing again. And to jump over that giant hurdle of falling out of practice. To drop the belief that 65 days somehow rendered me unable to keep writing sentences and hitting the send button. And to get over the fact that 65 days felt like an insurmountable amount of time to let pass.

Because it isn’t. I still can write, and I can still hit the send button and attempt to not overthink it.

The stories we burrow ourselves into and fall asleep inside of never cease to amaze me.

Thanks for being here, it really means a lot to me.

See you soon,

dins