I write a lot of posts that I get a paragraph or two into and then delete. Mostly, they’re self-indulgent journal entries that belong in the pages of a private diary, rather than published for the world to see. Worse, they’re boring and repetitive and whiny, which demands that I purge them, suffocate before they gain enough oxygen to exist in the world on their own.

But I’m starting to wonder if, in an effort not to gripe in a place that guarantees my complaints will live on, I’m also denying myself the opportunity to problem-solve in the way I do best — in writing.

So, I’m going to dig out one of the bazillion notebooks I have floating around the Burrow and start writing in it. Start allowing my frustrations and my dreads (and occasionally my deepest hopes) into the air — where they will get oxygen, but also light. And if I can see a problem, and write about a problem, maybe I can solve it. Or come to terms with it and make it just an inconvenience, rather than a problem.

As I wrote Friday, I’m also going to get moving. Daylight Savings Time returns in a fortnight, and I don’t really care if you don’t like it (kids, pets, whatever). It helps me tremendously to have light after work. Daylight proffers the ability to work in the garden, to walk along the creek, to bike with less stress. I spend too much of my workday sitting (no need to walk to the conference room any more or run out to pick up lunch or bike to work), and I feel it, particularly when my day doesn’t end at 5 when it should, but at 7 or 8 or whenever I just give up on getting more done and switch from sitting on the couch with my work computer to sitting on the couch watching tv or reading. And it’s sure as hell going to show when I get out on the volleyball court with people 15+ years younger than me. If I’m not going to be inspiring, at least I should strive not to be a warning sign. As of today, the sun is finally setting after 6 again, and by the end of the month it’ll be after 7:30. I can work (and work out) with that.

And I’m going to put five things away every day. Not just down, but away. Rudi and I are notoriously bad about not wanting to deal with things in the moment, and they have a way of piling up — and not in a good way. We’ve agreed that we both need things to be less cluttered, but now we need to put action to word.

That’s three goals for the month. More than that and it’ll become impossible to begin. I’ll let you know how successful my inner Yoda is. (There’s a distinct possibility I’ll just smother him in a pile of laundry.)