Comfort & Joy

How are you resting this month?

I'm seeing a lot of "end of year" lists, here on Substack and on Instagram, in my inbox, and all the other ways we communicate. Lists of things people have accomplished. What they've done this year. Numbers of customers served, awards won, books sold. 

I wanted to write an end of year list and send it to all of you, because I'm proud of what I accomplished this year, even if I didn't accomplish some of the things I set out to do. But I realized, as I made the list in my head today, that it was coming from a place of proving myself to you, and to me. Proving that I've done "enough." Proving that if you're paying for a subscription here on Substack that I'm worth your $5 a month. Proving that I am still "worthy" of crafting a writing life. 

And then I realized something else: I'm tired! I don't know if it's the news lately, or the work I've been doing behind the scenes on my memoir, or the fact that it's been cold, but my tank feels emptier than it usually does this December. I am really tired. 

So, instead of making my end of year list, I am going to log off and rest. It feels indulgent to say that, even spoiled, or immature. Lately, for some reason, my Instagram algorithm has been feeding me reels of young white women and their morning routines. Five a.m. wake up times for exercise. Overnight oats for breakfast, prepared the night before. A skincare routine with 45 steps, all done before 8 am. 

On many days I wish that I could be one of these people. It feels like if I could accomplish that life, every day, somehow I'd be a better person, that I’d fit into the world better. But then I remember a few things: I am no longer quite so young. And I am busy building a life that fits me and my own needs. Maybe I don't have a morning routine that is quite so Instagrammable, but I am fortified by doing the difficult but worthy task, every day, of interrogating what it means to live a life by my own values and my own desires. Honoring what my body needs. Listening to myself. Even when it feels difficult. 

It feels like resting is a better use of my time and energy than anything else I could be doing. So I'm going to rest. 

I want rest for you too this holiday season. We can't always be writing —in fact, our writing is served by taking time to live life, taking time to notice the world, to make connections, to visit your rich inner life and keep connecting to what fulfills you and nourishes you. 

And part of being a writer — a memoirist, a personal essayist, a truth teller — is to stay grounded in your own vision, even when it's difficult. Even when it doesn't look like someone who gets up at 5 a.m. to exercise. No great memoir was ever written by a rule follower. 

But, honestly, rest for the sake of rest is just as important. Even if you’re not noticing the world. Even if you’re still following the rules. Enjoy your rest — and know that whatever you've done in 2023, it's enough. 

See you in 2024.

Allison

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You are reading the intangibles, by writer and creative writing instructor Allison Kirkland. This publication is geared toward writers of memoir and creative nonfiction and the people who love them. Not ready to commit to a full subscription? You can always leave a tip.

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