I love the beginning of the month. Actually, I love all beginnings: Monday morning, when you’ve actually gotten everything done over the weekend and the days to come are planned and color-coded on your planner; the beginning of a semester or a new class, when everything is before you and you don’t feel behind; the beginning of the new year, when resolutions feel like promises made, not promises broken.
But the beginning of a month usually slips right by; its circulating return catching awkwardly between a too-busy Wednesday and the blessed release of the weekend. Instead, today, I’m focusing. On the fresh start of a fresh month. On thirty days, stretching out in front of me on my calendar, filled with possibilities for achievement and productivity, for weekend dates and completed projects.
I have big goals for November. I want to finish first drafts for final papers in all of my classes this month. I’m trying to fit working on my novel into my schedule. I am dissatisfied with some of my academic habits. I don’t like that my lack of exercise is making everything hurt. So I’m focusing on those things.
There is nothing particularly special about the beginning of the month. It’s a false division, one created by a number on paper, not by anything in the tangible world. But this false division is allowing me to turn away from everything that I tried to do last month, to step into a new space that I can create as I want it to be. And that’s exciting.