I confess.
I failed at my goal. In my last blog, I discussed how I had started a new habit of writing for 15 minutes every day. I did it faithfully for about four weeks and then I missed a day, then a second day. I felt miserable and reminded myself to restart but it didn’t happen. Another month went by and I did not write once. A failure. And it seemed like such a good idea!
I have long admired those people who tackle a huge project by taking small steps every day. It seems like such a sensible method to complete a big project – whether it is renovating a room, weeding a garden or writing a novel. But I fail at this method every time I try. Instead, I lurch from binge tackling of a project to long periods of stagnation until I pop into another binge round.
Two diaries belonging to my mother were unearthed from an old cedar chest that has held the last of her things since her passing eleven years ago. I was thrilled at the prospect of reading them. The earliest one was a Christmas gift from her mother in 1950. My mom would have been 18 years old.
