Losing a Step
Also: Top Shelf reading, Trigger Warning for Old Lady Legs
The facts are the facts: I’ve lost a step. More than one, an average of 37 every day. After four years of increasing my daily walking — 3.5 miles daily average in 2020, 5.6 in 2021, 5.6 in 2022 — I slipped to 5.5 in 2023. And I have no idea why. But I also have no idea why I try to walk five miles a day and why I feel guilty when I don’t.
I will say that most important thing I’ve learned from my walking habit is that if you get behind, it’s hard to catch up. If I allow myself too many “low-mileage” days early in the month, I’m not going to hit that 5-mile average. A big day or two at month’s end isn’t enough to compensate. (I walked 7.7 miles on Dec. 30, but the month still averaged out at only 5.3 daily.) That’s good to remember because producing novels on an almost annual basis works the same way for me. If I don’t put in the work regularly, I can’t catch up later.
Will I lose more steps in 2024? Who knows? Will I be bummed if I do? Probably. This week, for example, is super challenging for any number of reasons. I found myself thinking: If I’m going to get my miles in, I need to get up at 5.
Guess who got up at 5 today.
But I’m not doing any real resolutions in 2024. I have one project: I am trying to repair my reading brain. My reading brain reminds me of a friend’s vintage Jaguar — it’s beautiful, it’s vintage, and it breaks down a lot. When the Jaguar breaks down, my friends does whatever it takes to fix it. This usually involves lots of dollars.
I wish money could fix my reading brain. It needs something just as valuable, time, a daily commitment to read for long stretches, preferably not on a screen.
Here’s the tricky part: Whenever my reading brain breaks, it’s because I am not reading enough for pleasure. Reading is the real love of my life. As a child, I looked forward to the Christmas tradition of receiving one of the books in the Oz series, then shutting myself in my room and reading all day. The worst summer vacation was the one in which I brought eight library books to our week at the beach, but seven of them were “horse” books and it turned out I was not a horse girl, in life or on the page. So I reread Betsy and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill over and over and over again.
The other day I was puttering (evergreen statement — I am forever puttering). While 75 percent of my books are organized as they would be in a library, there are some “overflow” shelves in my house, which is where recent purchases tend to congregate. As a writer, I never feel guilty about owning unread books; the economy of publishing depends on people buying more books than they can read.
Still I intend to read every book I buy. One day. If I live to be 140 or so. And so the other day, looking at the books on one shelf, I thought: Why not just read all of these in 2024? I dubbed it the Top Shelf Challenge and I am genuinely excited about it.
There are several friends here, some Twitter follows (y’all, George Eliot and Thackeray are killing it on the socials) and a few re-reads, including Eliot, Thackeray, Groff, and Febos. Also some books that I started but didn’t finish. It’s only 45 books, not even a book a week. In addition, I’m doing a War and Peace read-along to fill the months until ModPo kicks off again in the fall.
I’m making this public in order to be accountable. But, to be clear: With me, failure is always an option. This isn’t a self-improvement project, it’s rehab, much like what I did for my shoulder from July 2022 through July 2023.
That’s a Jimmy Lee Sudduth painting over the books by the way; he’s one of my favorite visionary artists. And speaking of things visionary, the AVAM docents had their holiday party last month, which included a White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, newbies like me learned that making gifts is always popular in this group, so I brought two acacia trays at Ikea, then printed out (possibly copyrighted) images from AVAM’s own website, which I then used for, yes, decoupage, the craft for people who can’t really craft. The recipient seemed to genuinely love them and I was well under the $25 limit.
Read/reading: Letters to Wendy’s, Joe Wenderoth; The Vulnerables, Sigrid Nunez; War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy; 11 student manuscripts.
Rereading: Diary of a Mad Housewife, Sue Kaufman.
Listening: Doppelgänger, Naomi Klein. Also, War and Peace.
Me, me, me: I made the Wall Street Journal’s list of best crime novels of 2023 and Linda Holmes said some very nice things about Prom Mom on Pop Culture Happy Hour. Also, Sari Boton accepted another cocktail-infused pitch from me, so it looks as if I’m going to be writing the occasional column for Oldster this year.
Finally, the last selfie of 2023, literally the last selfie of 2023, trigger warning for very old legs. I like my legs, but sometimes people are very rude about old women and their bodies, or infer that photos like this are thirst traps. Don’t be one of those people. Besides, when you are an old woman, as I am, the culture is quite clear that there is no thirst to trap. That’s fine. I’ve got a lot of books to read.
On the other hand, there are nice people who credit my walking habit for my legs, and as much I as appreciate their kindness, it’s mainly genetics.
"The economy of publishing depends on people buying more books than they can read."
This should be emblazoned on the door of every bookstore on the planet.
When I lived in Seattle in the 1990s there was a political group called Citizens for More Important Things - I feel like they would be helpful in redirecting people's attention about what women of any age should be or not be doing.