Venturing Out to Look In

Thoughts on envy, solitude, and cultivating a writing life for next year

Hi friends! It’s a frigid afternoon in Iowa City, but at my writing desk I’m warm and surprisingly hopeful for the upcoming new year. I had my last therapy session of 2025 this morning, and when my therapist asked for a weekly recap, I was able to list mostly positive things. That’s a subtle but empowering change of perspective for me recently, and I hope that means a little less depression and anxiety ahead.

Since this will be my last regular post before my final Bestsellers & Returns of 2025, I spent a lot of time this week thinking about it. And then my cat ran outside this afternoon when I opened the front door to grab some mail, and I knew exactly what to write.

Image description: Evidence of my cat’s escape from the house last week: paw prints in the snow going out the front door.

Last week, my five-year-old tabby, Shakespeare (who is a former stray), ran out the front door when I came home from work. He’s done this a few times before, but this instance really surprised me because he’d never escaped at night. This of course worried me, but in the moment I was also angry because I was exhausted after a long shift at Prairie Lights, and instead of doing what I thought he’d do once his toe beans touched fresh snow, he did the exact opposite. I’ve seen enough cats on the Internet retreat from snow that I assumed mine would be no different, but I keep forgetting that I don’t have an ordinary cat. I watched him take a couple of tentative steps near the open front door, but instead of running back inside, he looked at me with wild glee and gave a triumphant meow of pleasure. One might even call it a howl.

“Goddammit, Shakespeare!” I yelled into the quiet night as he scampered. Not something I thought I’d ever say in a sentence, let alone shout in my own neighborhood.

I managed to catch my frolicking feline and scoop him up in my backyard, but he still didn’t want to go back inside. He squirmed in my arms like he’d been possessed, and when I finally got him back in the house with the door firmly shut (with Zach’s help), I swear he glared at me like an angry teenager. He glowered near the living room heat vent for a few minutes (probably to warm up as much as to pout), and by the time I made a cup of tea for myself, he was nuzzling me like nothing extraordinary had happened.

For a brief moment this afternoon, when he escaped again, I feared he’d once more run away from me, but this time a loud truck across the street startled him, and he actually did run back toward the house. (It’s also much colder today than it was the night he last ran out, so I’m sure that factored into his slightly feral cat mind, too.) He didn’t put up a fight when I scooped him up and carried him back this time.

My cat’s occasional restlessness has made me reflect on my own. I wrote a couple of weeks ago about being envious of my single friends, and though I’m still feeling that, I now at least know why. I had coffee with one of my closest writer-friends earlier this week, and she, like me, is also going through some growing pains in her committed relationship. I listened to my friend and asked a few questions, but I didn’t try to offer any solutions, since she extends that same courtesy to me. We’re both in twelve-step recovery programs and therapy, so we have a lot of communication tools between us. I know from our time together (and from recovery) that one of the best things you can offer a friend who’s struggling, besides listen, is to just share a bit of your own struggles. I did this, and then she asked me a question:

“Have you thought about scheduling some time for yourself?”

I laughed. “I was actually looking at studio apartments a couple of weeks ago—”

“I’m not talking about that,” she said gently. “I mean, just a little time for yourself. Time to write.”

My friend is so wise and knows me so well. It dawned on me then that I’ve been feeling envious of my single friends because I’ve been craving a little more solitude. As usual, my knee-jerk brain pondered an entirely different life rather than consider some simpler, gentler possibilities. Plenty of writers and artists find time and space for themselves while also partnered—why can’t I do this, too? I had to laugh at myself then, because it probably would have taken me an embarrassing amount of time to come up with this compromise on my own—or I might not have thought of it at all.

So, if I’m going to have a resolution for 2026, this is it: Find opportunities for solitude, not isolation. Nurture myself as a writer, and most importantly, keep taking myself seriously as a writer, too. I won’t get that elusive book deal unless I do.

I feel so fortunate to have such a close writer-friend in my life…next year will mark a decade of our friendship, actually. We met at a Summer Writers’ Workshop here in Iowa City (at the Dey House), an experience that changed my life. I need more of this kind of communion with writers, and I also need a little space for myself, too. I’m going to apply to a few more residencies in 2026, and I’m also going to take some big swings and apply to a few elite writing conferences. I’ve never been to Bread Loaf, so I hunkered down this week and just submitted my scholarship application for it this afternoon. (I applied to be a Rona Jaffe Participant, which, if I were to receive, would pay for my room and board.) I need more experiences like this just for me, and I need to prioritize them.

My cat might still try to run away once in awhile, but I like to think that if he had a day on his own, he’d find his way back home. Perhaps I’m too nervous of a pet-parent to try this out, but I know I’ll always find my way back home, too. Maybe I need to let myself out a little more to nurture both sides of me, the domesticated and the slightly feral.

As we wrap up this year, I hope you take time for yourself, even if you’re spending time with loved ones. We all deserve to nurture our inner creative.

Image description: My little escape artist and I sitting in front of my writing desk. I managed to snap this selfie of Shakespeare (the cat) and I a couple of mornings ago. We’re both looking at the computer screen.

Back Desk Questions:

-What is one of your creative-based resolutions for the new year?

-How do you balance your different needs and selves?

-How often do you give yourself the gift of solitude?