It’s Tuesday

Dear Elena,

I haven’t written you a letter in a while, and there are three reasons why I’m doing so tonight:

1. I want to document a few of my favorite memories with you this past month.
2. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m celebrating in a way that’s out of character for me.
3. It’s Tuesday, and I want to reflect a bit on routines.

I don’t want to take too long, and my dinner awaits in the microwave, so let’s see how fast I can get through those three points.

December 2024

I can picture us in 10 years, and you telling me, “Yes, Mom, you have told me several times how much I obsessed over the movie Moana.” I will ask, “I miss how you said Monana and asked me to play Away Away several times a day.” And you’ll respond, “Yep, you’ve told me that, too!”

It’s funny to think of one’s first movie obsession—mine was Aladdin (or was it The Little Mermaid?) I never expected yours to be a movie I happen to enjoy, too. We can thank your cousin Clarissa for it, by the way. I just know that, as I think of all the fun things we’ve done this month, all the new words, phrases, and faces you’ve shown us, my best memory has to be of you singing along to the Moana soundtrack.

December is always a month for reflecting and thinking of what/wasn’t, and I tend to be too hard on myself because of the memos I’ve lived with for several years. You’ll see, those around you will shape you, for better or worse, and the life expectations of those you love will cast shadows wherever you walk. Sometimes, it’s important for perspective, but other times, it can feel like an unnecessary burden.

Elena, choose what you want and what makes you happy, even if that is a New Year’s Eve at home with your soulmate wearing pajamas and going to bed early.

New Year’s Eve

Growing up, I always needed two special outfits in December: one for Christmas Eve and one for New Year’s Eve. There were gatherings with lots of family, always the most delicious food, fireworks, laughter with cousins, and fond memories to cherish.

It always felt like you had to have a plan. You needed to be with people (friends or family) and be somewhere for the final countdown. Last year, we all got sick the night before, so your dad and I decided to stay home and welcome the new year from the floor and couch, respectively. By midnight, you were feeling better and were sleeping peacefully in your crib.

When the time came to decide what we wanted to do this year, I went back to that memory. Not the illness or lack of energy but the relief of not being expected anywhere. I thought, “I want that again.”

Your dad needed no convincing (as you know, he never celebrated this day as I did.) Family would be traveling, so there was no need to defend our decision. We would just stay home, put you to bed at the regular time, and have a relaxing evening together.

Tonight feels good for two reasons: we are happy being home, and we don’t need to be somewhere to fulfill expectations that aren’t truly our own. It has taken me almost 40 years to do that more often.

It’s Tuesday

Writing these letters to you back in March and attempting the whole Tuesday Slice has felt fulfilling, which is a contagious feeling when I harness it. The past two months weren’t busier than usual, though—not a lot of writing. I just let go of that feeling, and then it went away like Liz always says it will. The good thing is that Liz always reminds me that whenever I’m ready to take it back, the inspiration and drive to write (along with some ideas) will be waiting for me.

I want to start the year with realistic resolutions, and I will call for James Clear and his atomic wisdom to help me stay grounded. I have relied on habits and routines to raise you so far, so I have proven that I can stick by anything if I care enough (and make room for days off).

I said it in one of the letters I wrote to you this year: since you were born, my decision-making has an added layer of what I would want to model for you. That said, sure, I want you to know that routines matter and that making solid habits helps you live a successful life, but most of all, I want you to see me as someone who tried hard but didn’t kick myself too much when I walked off the path.

We can always get back on track, Mamashanta.