Five Things I Learned from My 100 Days Project

So for anyone keeping track, back in August, I decided to do a 100 Days Project wherein I would write something every day for 100 days. But my last entry was written on Monday and today is Sunday. That’s basically a whole week where I haven’t written anything here. And I think I’m done—at least with this project. So the real title of this post should be: Five Things I Learned from My 60 Days Project. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. Writing is still my number one. I still do it, in some form or another, every single day—both for my day job and for fun. And doing this for the last 60 days has actually taught me a ton: about priorities and timing and choosing the things that are really important. Here are a few of the things I learned:

You can make time: When I first started this whole thing, I was most worried that I wouldn’t have much time to dedicate to it. I work a full time job, have a house and a family and a whole bunch of other boring life responsibilities. But I found that, since this was something I wanted to do, I could find the time when I needed it—in the morning, after Luca went to bed, on my lunch hour. And I also found that since JB knew how important it was to me, he was up for helping me find the time too. 

Three times a week is a charm: What I did notice though, was that I really only wrote things that I felt were of quality about three times a week. The other days, especially on Fridays and Saturdays, often felt forced—I was doing it more because I had to then because I wanted to. And while I know that sometimes the best things comes out of holding yourself accountable, I also want to be able to put the time into the things I actually want to write. Which is basically how I ended up at 60 days instead of the full 100.

Planning is good: Some weeks I would look ahead and think of the things I could write about. It was good to work sentences around in my head and think about new or different ways to structure things. Those were about where to eat on Cape Cod, and how to wake up early for the gym and what 33 looks like.

But off the cuff works too: But then there were the days when I had nothing and I sat down in front of a black screen and something came out. Some of my favorite pieces ended up being written that way: the were about values we want to pass on to Luca (this is one of my all-time favorites, actually), on the importance of practice, and on being mindful.  

Inspiration is everywhere: That’s a super trite statement, I know. But the truth is it’s the truth. I learned this from my magazine days, but if you’re paying attention, ideas are all over the place. In the moment that makes you stop in your tracks. In a podcast you listened to. In a conversation you had. Hell, in that random thing you overheard or that comment you read in that Facebook group you just can’t seem to pull away from. Of everything this project has made me think about, this is the one I want to keep on hand the most. Realizing that even the most mundane, everyday things are full of inspiration and meaning is the secret to making it all worthwhile, I think.

So here we are, 60 days out, and I’m pretty proud that I’ve kept it up this long. I’m still going to write as often as I can, and I’m so happy that I was able to find this space, to find myself here, over all this time.

It’s been like getting back to the core of things—and now it’s figuring out what it all looks like from here.

8-Minute Memoir: Letters

I saw this over on Life of Bon and figured this 100 days project was as good a time as any to write some of these myself. (The original, with all the prompts, is by Ann Dee Ellis.) I'm going to jump in and out of this when the topic strikes--this one, on "little things," totally did. Oh and full disclosure, while I wrote the first draft in 8 minutes (maybe 10?), I totally went back and edited it because I can't help myself. 

I am sitting cross-legged on the bed in our first apartment. The walls are yellow, which we painted one summer afternoon before going to a party in Brooklyn. It’s not the exact color we wanted, but it would do. We’d only live there for another two years, anyway.

All over the bed are the contents of one of my many “memory boxes.” It’s a childish name for an almost-30 year old to use, but it’s what my mom called them when she bought them for me when I was in middle school, in high school. When I would stuff them full with folded up notes and movie ticket stubs and pages ripped from magazines. My teenage years, captured and catalogued.

We are packing up this apartment to move into a new house. One that’s not too far away, but where we imagine we will make a life. One where we’ll say, this is where we bought our first baby home and where we’ll paint the walls bright colors and marvel at the lack of outlets in the bathrooms and take too long to hang photos.

I’m emptying the contents of one of those memory boxes. The one with all the letters. The envelopes are white, with blue and red and white Air Mail stripes on the sides. You’ve probably seen them. The insides are scribbled in blue and black ink, and sometimes, from one particular pair of sisters, written in markers and covered in stickers. They are pages pulled from notebooks, they are written on graph paper, they are on loose leaf paper that you have to make sure are arranged in the right order.

The collection dates sometime between 1997 and, maybe, 2002. They’re the letters I’d write back and forth with my friends from Italy after having spent a summer with them—letters we’d write before we really used email, though there are a few of those too, printed out, with an AOL address at the top. This was before you could send a text or a WhatsApp message, before FaceTime and Facebook.

I’d come home from school, pick the letter out from the pile of mail on the kitchen counter. Sometimes I wouldn’t open it right away, delaying the feeling it brought because it would take 10 minutes to read, and maybe months to get another one. Eighth grade got busy like that.

Sitting on the bed, sifting through them, I think how these letters are a direct connection to this person that I was, that I used to be, that I probably still am. These adventures and experiences that were so new to my 13-, 14-, 15-, 16-year-old self.

Sometimes, I think back to those summers and wonder if they meant the same to other people as they did to me. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. But then, today, almost 20 years later, I see photos and videos on Facebook—a new way to write—and I see familiar faces and familiar sentiments. The places we’d sit or walk or talk are still there, still part of all of it—same as it is for me.

As I collect the letters and put them, piece-by-piece, back in that memory box, I feel nostalgic. I feel lucky.

And then I close up the box, pack it up with all the other boxes, and wait for it to be moved to the new house.

words

"If you have a broken heart or a battered soul

Find something to hold on to or to let go

To help you through the hard nights like a flask filled with hope

Darlin' do not fear what you don't really know."

- Brett Dennen, "Darlin' Do Not Fear" 

A perfect remedy if you ever need inspiration and/or a reminder that no matter what, life is, in fact, pretty amazing: Brett Dennen on repeat. 

Some housekeeping

While I’m still wrapping my head around the last couple of weeks (all good things, thankfully), I realized I forgot to mention a couple of recent guest posts I’ve done. If you'd like to check them out, here's some info: 

The first was for Italian American Girl, a wonderful blog written by Margaret about her experience as a first generation Italian-American, with lots of upcoming events, news and issues in the I-A community. I wrote a post about my obsession with dressing like a "Italian girl" and some of the great Italian fashion brands that are popular in Italy and also found in the U.S. 

You can read it here. 

The second was for i-Italy, an online magazine about Italian-American life with which I’ve been affiliated for a few years now and think is an amazing resource. I wrote about the new Jersey Shore show and the negative and positive feelings Italian-Americans have towards it. Have you seen the show? What do you think about it? 

You can read that post here. 

And I’ll be back tomorrow with another update, promise.