March 2026 SOLC–Day 1
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It’s coming.

The words, or a variation of them, have been a pulse threading through my mind for at least the past week, probably more like two or three. A steady beat. Sometimes louder. Sometimes softer. Always there.

It’s coming. Soon. Are you ready?

The words have ebbed and flowed, a flutter of anxiety occasionally accompanying them. They’ve sparked an increased awareness of time evaporating. Of a deadline fast approaching. Of more things crowding into my mind. Onto my to-do lists. Into my already over-scheduled day. Into the madness of March with it’s glut of assessments, report cards, conferences, etc. (And that’s just the school stuff!) Every so often, the words have crescendoed…It’s coming. Are you ready? Are you? Soon! Soon! It’s coming… and the flutter of anxiety has roiled into a full-fledged heavy repetitive beat. Uncomfortable. Persistent.

How will I do this?

Inside my head a tentative voice reminds me this is a choice and that I’ve done it before. Many, many times.

Still, this year feels different. I’m unsettled by the world and by changes in my own life. I’m juggling a lot of commitments to myself and to others. I’m already feeling overwhelmed and dropping balls here and there.

Where will this energy come from? Where will the time to write come from? Should I even bother starting?

I remind myself I can quit. That missing a day isn’t failure. That’s what I tell myself, but I’m not sure it’s what I believe.

“I’m feeling stressed about the Slice of Life challenge,” I blurt out to my husband. “More than usually so.”

The questions spill out of me. “Am I being ridiculous to pile more into this month? Am I just needlessly adding stress?”

He turns, but before he can even answer, I continue, “But I say this every year. And I always get so much out of it.”

I know he can’t answer this for me. I’m just thinking out loud. Trying to get my feet under me.

This morning I wake. The calendar page has turned. March has arrived, and it’s time to decide.

With trepidation looming, I’m trying.

It’s here.