"Books," I say to them. "Books."

I don't normally make new year's resolutions, but since the new calendar year happens to align with a lull in the absurdity that has been 2012, it's not a bad time to join the chorus. My resolutions are to stop feeling guilty and to start writing. I'm setting a goal of 350 words a day. Something is better than nothing.

Leaving guilt behind is much harder. It's going to require a significant switch in my thinking. I default to guilt. I tell myself it's selfless to feel guilty about everything--that I'm somehow acknowledging my selfishness. But nobody benefits from this. I don't. It steals my energy, my joy, and my time.

Some element of working mama guilt will always be present. But I am lucky. I love my job, and my son has an impressive network of family and friends who love him. I get lengthy breaks between semesters to relax. My hours are flexible. I will feel better once he's in school, but for now, he will be OK.

Losing the guilt trickles down. I'm happier. I'm more likely to assume good intentions. I'm not sure why these things are related, but they seem to be.

I'm sure a great deal of this has to do with leaving a situation that was making me miserable. Getting over the guilt of not doing the "right thing" is what held me still for so long. Guilt is paralyzing.

My first exercise in guiltlessness is to not work for these two weeks between semesters, and not feel guilty about it. A trip to the used book store for a fiction binge is in order. I will not read about work.

I just finished Barbara Kingsolver's newest book, Flight Behavior. I loved it. Its synchronicity with my life was frightening, but in a way that has prompted me to pay attention (and continue to feel a bit frightened). My shelves (and still unpacked boxes) are full of books, but they feel old simply because I've stared at their spines for so long. And I've read most of them. I notice that I mostly have mediocre books on my shelves. The bad ones don't stick around for the sake of my pride, and I tend to give away my favorites as soon as I get new copies.

I realized the other day that I had never read the "and other stories" portion of A River Runs Through It. (I also just had a formatting argument in my head trying to decide whether the novella would be italicized). I'm starting there because I know MacLean won't disappoint. Then I will finally read The Alchemist because I'm sick of not knowing all the allusions. Then maybe Mr. Alexie, O'Brien, or Robbins...


"I visit the schools as often as possible. The Indian kids crowd the classroom. Many are writing their own poems, short stories and novels. They have read my books. They have read many other books. They look at me with bright eyes and arrogant wonder. They are trying to save their lives. Then there are the sullen and already defeated Indian kids who sit in the back rows and ignore me with theatrical precision. The pages of their notebooks are empty. They carry neither pencil nor pen. They stare out the window. They refuse and resist. "Books," I say to them. "Books," I say. I throw my weight against their locked doors. The door holds. I am smart. I am arrogant. I am lucky. I am trying to save our lives." -Sherman Alexie, "Superman and Me"