What Is Left

A year of reassembling after and through loss.

I spent the first half of this year like the last third of last: alone. Some may recall that since the school 2018-2019, my husband’s job was in the Bay Area and our home was here in Salt Lake. The short version of this tale, already detailed in past newsletters, is that I went back and forth between the two places for a while, then for 18 months in the full flush of pandemic times, I stayed there.

For the school year 2021-2022, I came back here to Utah (with the cat) and my husband stayed in CA and visited me on his breaks. I was just done with doing all the back and forth myself, and struggled with cohabitation in such a small space. In some ways, I felt like an add-on to my husband’s life rather than a full occupant of my own.

He moved back himself at the end of this school year after securing a job here, and we’ve been remembering how to live together. (I found I really like living alone, and would do the “live separately, visit often” thing in a heartbeat if it was possible—but without the entire state of Nevada between us! I’d prefer a Robert and Cora Crawley style of individual wings in the same mansion.)

The phrase “so much has changed” is by now almost a laughable understatement for anyone who has been conscious for the last five years. But we’re each experiencing what that change looks like and means in varied and personal ways, so it doesn’t feel like a cliché, just the truth.

For example, while we were in CA, the church we’d been a part of off and on for 15 years was a pandemic casualty; people scattered to a few different places. Though I hadn’t been a regular part of it since 2016, I knew thought it would always be there and it was where I could find a certain group of people. It was strange to be away when it fell apart. Maintaining friendships during those years of back and forth was very difficult already, and the dissolution of the church body made it exponentially harder.

We often wonder why we’re still here when all our family is in CA. One big answer is that we have a place we can afford when there is (and has long been, frankly, though it’s coming to starker light for more people now) a housing crisis all around us. We’ve always been homebodies, and having a home that your body wants to be in—and can be in without endless financial struggle—is no small thing.

But I feel unmoored and dissatisfied. “Restless” was not my word of the year for 2022 but it should have been. I’m in search of change but don’t know precisely in which direction I want it, and I feel (and am) limited in how many directions it could take.

I still feel deep in the process of re-assembling life from what’s left after…everything…and in a new reality where tumult is the norm and the future no longer holds even the illusion of certainty.

A major comfort through all of it is knowing I’m far from the only one. In that way, it feels less personal and more communal. Though the nuances are difficult to articulate, I think the effort is important for all of us who are struggling.

And now…

The Year in Writing

🌟 A Song Called Home, my first middle-grade book, came out in March. It got some very lovely reviews, including one in a New York Times feature.

🌁 I got to do an event in SF with my friend (and National Book Award Winner!) Malinda Lo, and our dinner out afterward with our spouses and friends was a highlight of 2022. (Supposedly that emoji is Golden Gate Bridge in the fog? For those with superhuman eyesight?)

🎙️ In May, I put out a little self-publishing project as a companion to my podcast. That was one of the more satisfying accomplishments of the year, along with expanding the This Creative Life newsletter and making more podcast eps.

✍️ Throughout the year, I turned in a draft of my next novel, did a major revision, and am about to start the final work. It’s another middle grade, and a companion to A Song Called Home. Stay tuned for more details!

The Year Ahead

If you’ve been listening to the podcast, you know that the theme of recent episodes has been Pivots, Comebacks, and Reinventions. There’s a reason I wanted to approach that topic in my conversations with other writers. The way I think and feel about my writing, what I want to write about, and how I want to do it are all under review. A shift is coming, I just don’t know exactly what it will look like.

When I figure it out, I promise to let you in on it.

Until then, I wish you all holidays that are restful, joyful, lazy, or fun, according to your needs. Thanks for being here through the year—I’ll be back in your inbox in 2023!