Ordinary Days

no tidy little bows to package them

The Stats

I got my December stats for Substack in the mail one morning last week. Statistics aren’t always encouraging; I saw that I lost one paid subscriber and two free subscribers. No gains in December.

In the past, that would have really discouraged me. Of course, my first reaction was to wonder what I'm doing wrong, assume I don't have what it takes, question every post I've written, and over-worry the situation.

But last month I talked to a lady who has quite a following in her niche, in the ten thousands. Lately, she has been narrowing her interests by posting opinions that are not necessarily popular. She's been losing followers every time she does this.

She told me that if those people aren't tracking with her, she would rather have fewer people that are all in rather than a whole bunch of people who aren't part of her “tribe.”

While I wouldn’t use the word tribe, I get her sentiment. I feel like community is a word that better fits, for me at least.

But not all of me is so understanding.

Part of me (the snarky, envious part) thinks: Easy for you to say; you have over a hundred thousand followers. The loss of a single reader for me is a substantial percentage. I want to hold tightly to every single one.

Silly, I know.

But I am going somewhere with this line of thinking: it makes me even more appreciative of you sticking with me and this writing journey of mine on into the new year.

I know we don't necessarily check all the same boxes politically or religiously or in a variety of areas. You who read Limning the Ordinary are all over the map, and not just geographically, and I treasure your presence here.

The History

I have loved the idea of writing since my teen years. I have been serious about writing since my late 20s. For over a decade, I've joked with my kids about me writing “the next bestseller” and “making it” as a novelist. Or an essayist. Or a poet—at this point, I don't really mind which one.

But in reality, other than publishing hundreds of blog posts, I've not seen a lot of “success” in my writing. This past year, I had several poems published and an essay or two, which always makes me feel happy because of the preponderance of work that doesn’t get accepted.

But another reason I really appreciate you being here, a part of Limning the Ordinary, is that what I write on Substack is sometimes raw, unfiltered. Sometimes it feels unfinished, at least to me. You’ll find me sorting through my words here, sifting and trying to find something of value. Maybe a post is not fully fleshed out and complete.

And so I appreciate you reading these posts as well as the times you offer a heart or leave a comment; although I don't necessarily send long responses to your comments, I treasure them because it means you're resonating with what I write.

Connection is one of the most important reasons I write, and I truly appreciate having this mode for doing so.

The Direction

In some ways, I admit that it feels I haven't yet found my niche here. If that's something you've noticed or wonder about, I do apologize. I’m still trying to gain traction in the direction I'm going with Limning the Ordinary.

If you follow my other websites or blogs, you know those are focused. My main website is focused on the craft of writing and literature and reading and things in that realm. My parenting blog is all about the real aspects of parenting.

But here on Limning the Ordinary, you’ll find posts on a variety of topics, and sometimes unfiltered or incomplete.

I was thinking on that throughout the month of December, asking myself, how or whether I should make my posts on Substack more focused in the year ahead. I kept telling myself I need time to work out a plan for Limning the Ordinary and make it organized and detailed and structured (the way I want everything in my life to be).

Then I realized the essence of Limning the Ordinary is its very lack of precision. This is me writing about ordinary life …

… and ordinary life is not always structured; it doesn't always follow a plan. Sometimes you get blindsided by things that happen.

Sometimes you feel like light is shining brightly, illuminating the path ahead and you feel inspired and ready to transform the world.

But other ordinary days just feel like you don't know what you're doing and not really sure which way to go. You wonder if you’ll manage to conquer a single item on your to-do list.

And if there is a light, it’s way off in the distance and you’re not sure, whether, when you finally reach it, it’s going to be a dingy streetlamp or the cast of the moon on a silent stretch of midnight waters.

I guess what I’m saying is this, what you’ve been reading so far is probably a decent sample of what you’ll continue to see in the weeks and months to come, which is life—ordinary days—not always offered up with a tidy little bow.

But offered just the same.

Let us go forth and live these offered up days.

May we limn them in whatever ways we can.

“If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path.”