Procrastination

At the beginning of the summer, I had a lot of plans. In spite of the state of the world.

And although I am not a list maker

 (Though for years, I’ve collected other people’s lists left behind in supermarkets.)

I had a long list in my head in June.

Some of what was on the list:

Meditating every day

Yoga  (maybe even morning and night)

Taking piano lessons from a neighbor in the country –I did in the pandemic.

Reading authors I’d never read, and some I’ve read too.

Percival Everett’s James

New books by Miranda July and Sloane Crosby.

Writing a new story every single week. 

Without obsessing about whether or not they were good..

Writing to write. Just to write.

Starting a new book About Anything. Maybe about

(in fictionalized form) a friend who

is a friend no longer.  I’ve wanted to write a story called What Really Happened for years.

Writing about Israel and Gaza was on the list too. Although even now I have no idea what

to say besides what a sad an impossible tragedy this war is.  And how hard to imagine how

this all will end.

Now the second week of September, I am surprised at how quickly the summer came and went,

and how little I’ve done of what I’d intended.

Has that always been true, or does time take another form as we age?

Everything is suddenly fast.

Is the reason because we are aging?

Today we are back in New York City.  And the summer is officially over.

Rosh Hashanah is in just a few weeks.  Maybe that’s a good time for a list again.

What about you?

Love,

Esther