It feels too early to think about next year. It also feels impossible to experience any more of this year than we already have. And yet, I’ve found myself contemplating what’s worth taking with me, and what I absolutely need to leave behind. It’s hard to do that without knowing what happened this year to begin with. Am I the only one that feels like it’s a complete and total blur?
I wonder what I’ll remember about this year…Will I remember only the chaos and struggle? The fear and the confusion? Or will I remember the love and clarity? The adaptation and agility? The grit. The resilience. The community of shared experience?
I know I’ll remember exactly where I was and the big love I was with when we learned of the first “lockdown” …but will I remember the second? The third? I’ll surely remember the first covid test and buying that first mask online, but will I remember the days of awkward run-ins with the best of friends (omg I love you but cannot get close) or the constant feelings of sheer indecision (do I go on that walk? Do I go to that dinner? Do I go home for the holiday? Do I stay?)
Will I remember that almost every decision feels fueled with anxiety, a constant rabbit hole of what ifs…and that the thing I know will most positively impact my mental health is the same exact thing I’m being asked to forsake (for all the right reasons).
I was reading back on my gratitude journal this week and as I flipped through my nightly notes from Jan, Feb, and March of this year…it made me smile. On one hand I wanted to stop, to not keep reading, so as to stay suspended in the reality that ‘was’ …and yet, I kept going. And you know what? Pages from March onward didn’t read all that different. Even as challenges mounted from the realities of this year, my gratitude journal is just as full as it was last year. The notes are just as simple. The treasures didn’t go away. As long as we’re breathing, I believe they rarely do.
I hope what I remember of this year is the same thing that you remember…That you remember a woman that adapted, while not brilliantly. A woman that created, imperfectly. A woman that loved, even from afar. A woman that wasn’t her best, but was good enough. A woman that was scared, but kept going. A woman that some days crumbled, and yet always found the glue.
You’re likely to forget how shitty it felt inside your head a lot of the days. Maybe the worst it’s ever felt. Be OK with that and remember…you kept going. You woman’d on. And you didn’t do it alone. Any day we get to do that is a damn gift.
What will you remember? Let it be a memory of hope. Woman on xx