Still Here, Still Working

January doesn’t arrive with fireworks for me.
It comes quietly. Cold mornings. Stiff joints. The same body I woke up in last year, only a little more honest about its limits.

I’ve spent a good part of my life learning what it means to live around health issues rather than waiting for them to disappear. There are many things I’ve overcome, and just as many others that I manage. None of it is dramatic anymore — it’s just how it is. It’s life. The work of staying upright, staying present, and staying stubborn.

This year, I made a decision that has nothing to do with ongoing resolutions. I don’t believe in them. They expire too easily. What I’ve committed to instead is a shift — in how I eat, how I move, how I think about my body. Losing weight isn’t a goal I’m chasing. It’s the result of choosing differently, every day. Not perfectly. Not heroically. Just consistently.

One bite at a time.

That phrase has followed me everywhere lately — especially into the garage.

What was supposed to be a quick vehicle repair has turned into a months-long project, the kind where you fix one thing only to uncover three more waiting patiently underneath. There were days I questioned my sanity. Days my body reminded me I wasn’t twenty anymore. Hell, even forty. But then the weather would warm just enough, the light would last just a little longer, and I’d get back out there.

One bolt at a time.

The same mindset applies to the house. There are repairs I want done. Additions I’ve thought about for years. Remodels that would make daily life easier, more comfortable, more sustainable. I don’t see them as chores. I see them as investments in staying.

And yes — the writing continues.

I’m querying agents for The Witch, Margaret Barclay. Sending it out into the world with equal parts hope and realism. I know what I’ve written, and I know what it’s worth. What happens next is out of my hands — but the act of trying isn’t.

Future books are constantly circling in my head. Ideas don’t care if you’re tired, they don’t care if you’re busy, or even if you are sleeping. They show up anyway. I jot them down, file them away, and trust that there’s time enough to get them all out.

January doesn’t feel like a fresh start to me.
It feels like a continuation.

I’m still here.
Still working.
Still choosing forward motion — slowly, deliberately, imperfectly.

One page at a time.
One repair at a time.
One day at a time.

And that’s enough.