At the end of my 2013 rope, I begged for joy in 2014. I got a lot of it. But as much as I wanted 2014 to be the year of joy... it morphed into something else entirely.
And, I have tried to write a neat and tidy synopsis of what I learned this year, what I want to take away, what I want to carry forward into next year.
But 2014 was messy. Really messy. Not in a bad way, just—messy. I had ups and downs, ups during the downs, downs during the ups—bursts of joy amongst the tears. Burst of tears smack in the middle of joy.
The reality of loss set in. The reality of dreams I no longer get to have also set in. And once it set in—I couldn’t deny it any longer. I couldn’t just change the subject and make it easier or better or more positive.
As much as I wanted 2014 to be about joy… what it ended up being about was acceptance.
Accepting where I am, who I am, what has happened, what is happening, and what each moment brings. Living in the present has its merits, and acceptance is a big one.
2014 taught me the value of fully living in the present moment. What sucks about living in the present is that it’s hard to go back and ruminate over the year, because I didn’t record a lot of it, except on Facebook or Instagram.
I spent most of the year living day to day instead of trying to capture my thoughts about living day to day.
That’s unusual for me—but it isn’t bad, good, or indifferent. It simply is.
Right now it is like this: I am glad the year is over.
Somehow I feel unjustified in saying that, because it wasn’t a bad year. But it’s my truth, so there you go.
I learned the value of rest this year. I learned the value of letting go. I learned the value of rooting. I learned the value of sitting quietly and doing nothing. I learned the value of sweating buckets in hot yoga.
All that to say—I learned the value of self-care on a level I never knew I could care for me. The reasons I practice self-care have shifted ever-so-slightly, but what’s more impressive is that the depth to which I practice self-care has grown deeper than I ever thought possible.
I have learned to ask my body/mind/spirit/soul what it needs, what it longs for—and whatever the answer, I heed it.
Most of the time, that means slowing down and doing less.
The exhaustion I still feel confounds me. I thought I wouldn’t feel this tired anymore. I thought I would have more of my energy back. I thought…
It doesn’t matter what I thought, because everything I have learned about grief is that it’s different than what you think it is or what you think it’s supposed to be.
And that’s okay.
The end of this year has been quiet—very quiet. And for that, I am thankful. Quiet equates to slow and deliberate—two key pieces to my puzzle of transformation.
I can see and feel myself transforming.
And I know with a certain degree of solidarity that this transformation is my best yet. I am on the cusp of something big, special, and mind-blowingly awesome.
Yes. Amazing things are coming! I wear that belief like a new tattoo. And I smile as the wise words of Carol Lee, who I met this year, ring true in my heart right now.
I asked her, “How do I practice trust?”
She said, “You don’t. You just ‘be.’ Be the observer, and the trust will come.”