At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road, and then Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went. But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.
He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.”
— JRR Tolkien, LOTR
It’s been a minute, and for that I’m truly sorry. I let you all down.
Since last summer, I’ve felt as if I’m knee-deep in a bog. Not sunk, not drowning, just stuck. Breathing in the smell of decay and perfectly capable of of doing something about it, instead choosing to stay in place like a character out of a John Bunyan morality tale. The further I got from my last post (Jun? Cripes!), the more I felt the weight of the distance, every day sending me slinking further into the shadows of avoidance.
The creative work I managed to accomplish seemed like monumental lifts. I found a new agent who agreed to represent the post-2011 Japan tsunami memoir project my previous agent couldn’t sell, and in December finished the extensive proposal rewrite. My graphic novel co-creator/writer/motivator/licensed pleader and I finished a script for a ~160 page project and sent it off to our agent last week. I also pitched and placed a short personal essay with High Country News.
Don’t get me wrong — all of it was a buttload of work. But there was plenty of time in there to tend to Dad Bod. Not a week went past where I didn’t have a good idea for a new post. But I just never sat down and did the work.
Jen and I were talking about seasons being gendered this morning. Her take is that winter is a feminine season while summer is masculine. Which is interesting, because my opinion was the exact opposite. For me, my winter pursuits are closest aligned with my view of myself as a dude. Which makes sense — my view of myself has everything to do with the activities I’m passionate about, and athletics have been the thing I’ve always used to form my identity. In high school, I’ve have told you I was a hockey player, soccer player, and runner. In college, a middle distance track athlete. Post-college, road runner and triathlete. Late 20s into my late 30s: Marathoner. And now, in middle age? Nordic skier.
More recently, I added fly fisher to the list. This complicates things. For one, while there can be athletic elements to fly fishing, I wouldn’t say you need to be an athlete to be an angler. Two: It’s a summer thing, for crying out loud. I’m supposed to be a winter man.
This is all tongue-in-cheek, of course. But it has gotten me thinking about the time since last summer, and what I’ve experienced as a father and corpus inhabitant in that interlude, as well as the influences that summer, fall, and winter have had along the way. It being “spring” here in Anchorage (lol - all that means is that a season’s worth of epic snow and gravel have to melt out before anything green can have a chance), it’s a good time to look back. So over the next several posts, I’m going to walk you through some high (and low) points from each of the seasons.
I hope you’re happy to have this in your inbox after such a long break. For what it’s worth — It feels good to be back in my writing chair (technically, any seat is a “writing chair” in my home) to offer you a dispatch, as short as this one might be.
I am so glad that you are back
Welcome back! Don’t feel pressure. Just hit publish. I totally understand the feeling and took Alaska summer off as well last year