taking stock // setting intentions
It’s hard to write this. It hurts. I’m feeling rubbed raw right now. Winter melancholy, the smell of cold & dusty rooms, the hardwood floor freezing beneath my bare feet in the morning; hearing Tori Amos & The Pretenders on the radio in my car, on my way to do holiday shopping, weeping to “Silent All These Years” & “2000 Miles.” Coffee to go & feeling kicked in the chest by the passage of time. Thinking of my youngest child, my solstice baby, turning two on the longest night of the year; realizing that he’s officially a toddler now, not a baby, & I will never have any more babies. Nevermind that having two kids is perfect for me, that I don’t actually want to have more babies—just knowing that part of my life is over for real is hard. & the other sadnesses, the winter nostalgia, the memories. Wandering the streets of Philadelphia with A., high-fiving the Phillie Phanatic, coffee at the Last Drop. Celebrating Hanukkah with S., lighting the shammash, our simple meal of pasta with kalamata olives & fried artichokes. How I haven’t seen or talked to either one of them in years.
This time of year always hurts. Everyone takes stock of their lives near the turning of the year, everyone takes stock near their birthday, & my birthday is New Year’s Eve. & this year is perhaps even harder than most because it is the turning of not just a year but a decade. How do I sum up a decade when I can’t even sum up a year? As always when I think about the passage of time, when I look back on what’s happened, I think: All this? In just ten years I’ve experienced all this? But on the other hand: That’s all? That’s all that an entire decade of my life adds up to?
Oh, but there’s been so much. Living in Oakland, California for two years, then moving back to not just the midwest but the town I swore I’d never return to, the town I spent my tortured teen years in. & eventually falling in love with this town, & realizing that home is where I make it, & not in some mythical perfect city where everyone is into all the same things I am. (& that a city like that doesn’t really exist, & there are more like-minded people here than I’d assumed.) Getting married, having two kids; learning to be a wife & a mama & feeling like I was failing at it until I realized there’s not just one way to be a wife or mother. Realizing, to paraphrase the late, great Prince, that—I’m not a woman, I’m not a man, I am something that you’ll never understand. Growing my hair long then cutting it short again. Learning how to disengage from the endless bad news cycle that is the world/society we live in; to be well-informed & active without burning out. Learning, finally, to live with balance & stealth. Finding healthier ways to channel some of my more self-destructive impulses. Learning to find adventure & poetry in the small moments, not just the epic road trips & the one-night stands but the walking around downtown taking photos of graffiti scrawled in alleyways, the walking alongside the tracks watching the trains blow by, the parking my car in the county park & writing while my baby naps in the backseat.
There’s been heartbreak & hard shit. Falling in love (again) & being crushed by it. Losing a lot of people I thought would be riding side-by-side with me for the long haul; some died & others just decided to extricate themselves from my life. & being afraid to make new friends, holding everyone at arm’s length no matter how much I want to let them closer because I’m afraid of the moment when they, too, decide I’m not worth their time. Favorite places closing down. There’s been brokeness & threats of eviction, shitty landlords & hustling for freelance jobs so I can keep the lights on. Illness & injury, anxiety & depression. Drinking too much (but then, eventually, drinking less, & feeling okay about it). Trying to maintain good relationships with my parents; loving them, knowing they love me, yet knowing there are some things about me they’ll never understand or accept.
There’s been so much good, so much beauty. Watching my children grow. Truly dedicating myself to my writing after years of setbacks & holding myself back, & all that’s come from that: being Poet Laureate of my town, winning a couple awards, getting a poetry book picked up for publication. & the courses I took to deepen my connection to poetry, & leading courses, myself. & the writing itself, the one thing that has never abandoned me even when I thought it had. Learning how to carve space & time for myself & my work from the chaos of my life. Starting my own small press, which I’d been dreaming of since I was fifteen; the reality of it being both better & harder than I’d ever imagined. Creating visual art, again; being part of some art shows & actually selling a few pieces but also realizing I don’t care if I sell my visual art or not because it brings me joy. The moments I’ve spent with friends & friendly strangers: Kenosha punk shows, Milwaukee poetry readings, coffee & long walks. Zine fests. Making music: Oakland Wine Drinkers Union at the start of the decade, Wasted & Wounded at the end. & & &. Hiking in Joshua Tree. Visiting Peter Lorre & Dee Dee Ramone at Hollywood Forever. Sitting in cafes, diners, bars across the country, writing & daydreaming. Seeing Patti Smith in concert in Chicago, on her 70th birthday, the day before my 35th. Reading books & growing vegetables. So much, so much.
At the end of every year, when I look back on the year that’s passed & think about what I wish I’d had more of, the same two things always come up—I always wish I’d written more, & spent more time with friends. At the close of this decade, it’s no different. So I’m setting my intentions for 2020 & beyond. There are other things I will be manifesting in this new decade: greater patience with my children & myself, more time spent helping others, taking my press to a higher level, getting to the point with my own writing where I make a good enough living that I no longer need to take on freelance copyediting jobs to pay the bills. More tattoos, more live music (both witnessing & performing), more art, more walking & dancing. Quitting smoking, again, for good this time. I’ll keep my house cleaner & more organized but also not get down on myself when it does fall into disarray. I’ll deal with things as they come rather than letting it all pile up & overwhelm me. I’ll be a more active activist. I’ll learn to play chess & bake bread & make my own cold brew coffee. I’ll improve my credit score & try my hand at canning. I’ll do more thrift shopping & modify my own clothes. & I will write more, & spend more time with my friends.
I will write for the joy of it, without thinking about editing or sending out submissions, because that can come later. I will write poetry & fiction & essays & reviews & plays & songs & journal entries; I’ll write in bed before I rise, in the backyard while my children play on the swing set, in my car while the little one sleeps in the backseat. I’ll stop by places when I know my friends will be there, even if I can only stop by for a few minutes. I’ll accept more invitations to open mics & parties; I’ll invite people over for barbecues & out for coffee. & I’ll stop pushing people away/not letting them in. If our friendships eventually end, I’ll deal with it, then, but in the meantime, I’ll hold them close. The twenties will be my decade of connection & creativity, even more than the previous decades have been.
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The companion playlist for this installment is somewhat thematically linked to the piece. It’s also a way to showcase (some of) my favorite songs from (some of) my favorite albums of the decade.
Jessie Lynn McMains (they/them) is a poet, writer, zine-maker, and small press owner. They are a queer and non-binary mama to two wild kiddos. Aside from words, music is their favorite thing in the world. They’re also obsessed with tarot, the Midwest/Great Lakes/Rust Belt, ghosts, and the undying spirit of punk rock. You can find their website at recklesschants.net, or find them on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram @rustbeltjessie.