A sampler, of sorts

An incomplete reflection of 2023

sampler (n.)
“something containing representative specimens or selections”

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We sought refuge from the scorching summer heat by falling into a story, entranced by David Tennant’s narration of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Flies Again¹. A couple kids gathered on the couch while others colored nearby. Even the toddler, unusually well-rested, was content to self-entertain.

I pushed laundry and pillows aside, knowing I was rushing. But the time and energy were there. The household peace was there, and I was determined.

I printed the pattern and hastily taped it together, audaciously hoping for good despite my imprecision. I knowingly and brazenly committed sewing iniquities: I didn’t iron my fabric or cut squarely. I sliced through the wrinkled, white linen without even securing the pattern.

But I sewed pants. A lovely, flowy linen pair, which I later dyed a ruddy latte-brown.

I was proud of myself. I am proud of myself.

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My newsletter goal seemed simple when 2023 started. I'd inspect one word a month and capture one memory — one sentence to preserve a meaningful moment.

From January through May, I reflected on creating clothing, bird-gazing, and dabbling with art. I wrote of the panda tea party with its scones and glitter.

But the stitches fell away after that.

While life stayed full of scraps and intentions, many ideas never grew beyond longing. My sewing box is brimming with half-imagined hopes.

The summer whirled us through beach trips and the challenge of tasting twenty ice creams. School resumed, and we suddenly but deliberately began graduate studies. (My husband is the student, but pursuing a calling is very much a whole-family endeavor.)

My intention — my simple, achievable goal of one word a month — disappeared entirely, but that's okay. I’m choosing to be kind to myself.

I've been a novelist for four years, and this fall, my first manuscript went on sub. That means my book is waiting on a publisher. Waiting for someone else to believe in my story too. That also means I’ve met rejection. It doesn’t feel good, but I’m okay.

My last words are for you: thank you for reading my heart this year. Thank you for being curious alongside me. I wonder what we’ll discover in 2024.

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Warmly,
Rachael

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Photo by Mel Poole on Unsplash

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “365 Words.”

1. Don’t judge the series by the creepy movie. The David-Tennant-narrated audiobook series has 100% become a family favorite. Find it here!