"December" on my mind
Closing one creative year + preparing for the next
Distill a whole year down into a day
Act like we all start over with a pristine slate
But to get yourself a new life you've got to give the other one away
And I'm starting to believe in the power of a name
'Cause it can't be a mistake if I just call it change
Lately I’ve been listening over and over to The Blessed Unrest, Sara Bareilles’ fourth (and possibly most underrated) album, and I can’t stop thinking about these lyrics from its wistful closer, “December.”
The Blessed Unrest wasn’t an album on repeat for me when it came out in 2013, but I put my copy into my car CD player recently and really, really listened to it. It’s a slow burn album that needs that kind of attention, but now I think it might be my favorite of Bareilles’ so far, the most inventive and experimental record, the one with the biggest themes and yet some of the most intimate lyrics of her career.
It’s both a breakup album and a love letter to New York. It’s an album about paradise and purgatory and life and death and about putting on a little black dress and dancing to feel better after a relationship ends. It’s a weird and wild piece of art that for whatever reason, took eight years for me to love completely.
Distill a whole year down into a day
Act like we all start over with a pristine slate
Among other lines, I keep thinking about the layers in these lines from the “December” bridge because I’m someone who loves a fresh start almost too much. In my 20s, it was easier in a way to move to a new city and find a new job and meet new friends because I could just start over, instead of trying to fix whatever was wrong with wherever I was. I love the idea of New Year’s, the upcoming 12 months spread out in front of us like sheets of crisp new paper, anything and everything still possible while it’s unwritten. This is the year I will be Perfect and Successful and Noteworthy and Everything I Promised My Childhood Self I Would Be Someday.
I also love a fresh start in my creative life — also, almost too much. I love starting a new draft of a new story. I love cracking open a brand-new book. I struggle to sit with anything for too long because I’m eager to move to the next project or book to conquer. The next story is always what I’m most excited to write, the next read is always just a little more appealing than what I have in my hand.
But to get yourself a new life you've got to give the other one away
I’m finding myself at a creative crossroads, one where I could keep choosing to set aside my first attempts and start over with something new … or I could take the misshapen lump of clay in front of me and work at it until it’s at least a little closer to the vision in my head that got my attention in the first place.
My life isn’t perfect, but I wouldn’t throw it out to start over. My first drafts are flawed and cracked and taped together in countless places, but they’re mine.
I could see first passes at stories as mistakes to be tossed out. Here is where I told the story the wrong way the first time. This is a draft nobody ever needs to see, so it doesn’t matter. These are the mistakes that I spent hours of my life and tens of thousands of words working on.
But I think the name of the thing does matter. Those first drafts weren’t mistakes; they were change and (I hope) growth. They were stumbling steps forward, even if I’m not sure where I’m going yet.
In my January newsletter on creativity, I’ll share my practical steps for moving forward while getting myself to slow down. For now, I hope you’ll find some rest and time to daydream in this dreamy December in-between as we gently close one year while looking to the next.
And I'm starting to believe in the power of a name
'Cause it can't be a mistake if I just call it change