Excavation – An October Series

October 1, 2026—In another life I suspect I might have chosen archeology as a profession. I imagine an archeologist benefits from delayed gratification, a willingness to take the long view, and the ability to look at the bigger picture. I have honed the ability to break down large jobs into smaller tasks to maintain forward momentum. I celebrate the small wins along the way toward my goal.

In this life, the archeological site is my own heart and mind. Instead of trowels, rock picks, and sifting screens, I wield a pen and paper, and sometimes a laptop keyboard, to chip away at what lies beneath the surface. I’m not exposed to the elements like a scientist, but I can sometimes feel the heat as I consider why I am who I am, how I got here, and where I might go next. Who I am yet to become.

I am entering a new phase of this interior excavation as my daughter and I move into the second year following her father’s sudden passing. I’ve been holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. A few times in the past year, it did. We stopped, steadied ourselves, slid our foot back into the shoe, and kept going. Now my brave, preternaturally capable 19-year-old is settling into a new job and a routine that provides the structure and rhythm that feels soothing after so much loss and distress.

I sense an opportunity for me to examine what this phase of motherhood and this new decade of life has in store for me. At the beginning of my forties, almost 12 years ago, I was uncovering a new and unfamiliar version of myself. I was getting a divorce, which plunged me into a challenging season of financial hardship, the reverberations of which I am still feeling years later. My writing practice in that early phase of my new life catapulted me into a new sphere. Meeting myself at the page every day chipped away old patterns and previous versions that no longer served me.

In this next decade, while I feel slight disorientation, I trust the process of daily writing and exploration. The writing practice is a constant companion that reassures me when I feel wobbly and helps me steady my heart and mind and reengage my gut instinct.

At the end of September, I felt restless. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As I thought about what might bring some relief, I thought about the Octobers of a decade ago when I joined with other writers as part of an endeavor called Write31Days.com. Each October, we picked a topic and wrote about it from October 1 through 31. In those years, this was a real stretch and every year I felt so good when the month ended. I had something to show for my effort. These were the years when I bravely said aloud, I am a writer.

Since then, I have uncovered how enriching it is for me to take on month-long projects. I thrive on the structure and the energy that comes from short bursts of writing. This October excavation is the theme. True to the field of archeology, I don’t know exactly what will emerge as I meet myself at the dig each day. This uncertainty is a long-cultivated thrill now, rather than a burden it used to be.

I have a few ideas of topics and stories I’m interested in writing more in depth, but the overall plan is to meet myself at the page and see what can be eased out of the packed earth of my heart and history.