This is the first year that the throbbing monotony of celebrating a new year while remaining painfully unchanged on the inside isn’t here.
New year used to remind me of how far I didn’t go, how absolutely disappointing I was, and how, if there was hope somewhere in the world—I was one of the unlucky few who would walk around in circles never finding it. I would make vision boards and lists of goals if I felt guilty enough, but I would always know in my guts that I would be perpetually unsatisfied.
That either sounds incredibly dark, or, perhaps, familiar. And if it is familiar and you are heading into a new year that feels like another threshold of disappointment, I see you. And I bet you are doing better than you let yourself believe.
This year I learned that asking for help could change your life, that I wasn’t fatally and irreparably flawed, and that there was hope all along. I just couldn’t see it through the tornados and rain clouds that used to live in me.
So, here are a collection of reasons that life has become a bit sparklier this year…
The little pill that could
I have talked about the medicine quite often since starting it in June. The first half of this year was one of the darkest that I have had and the second, one of the brightest. The little pill (SSRI) was the beginning of recognizing myself again. It was the beginning of admitting that maybe I wasn’t just “being dramatic”. When my therapist suggested that it may be time for medication, I listened and although it kind of felt like giving up at the time, I jumped. It is easy to let the tiny little pill take credit for all of the change that has happened in me this year. But I jumped. That was me. That wasn’t the giving up—that was the fighting. I fought the tornados and rain clouds with the help of the pill and they started to retreat. And then—there was possibility.
The unexplored
My yes’s were abundant this year. With possibility, and the absence of worst case scenarios, this whole new world of “maybe so’s” came forth. I said yes to solo concerts that I would have previously ended in an overthinking paralysis. I said yes to dates with a stranger. And I said yes to honesty when it was safe to do so. I said no, too— when I would have previously said yes—making room for many more maybe so’s…
Nothing matters and also everything does
I went from quite a nihilistic mindset and the beginning of this year to a yes, we are on a floating rock, so… the things we think are the big things don’t matter as much as we think they do... And, the little things that we push to the side to make room for the things we think we are supposed to care about are actually the things that fill up our lives—watching rainstorms, lighting candles, cooking a meal for someone you love, taking long walks to nowhere in particular, spending an extra minute in a hug…it all matters. I think we fill up our corners of the floating rock—not by becoming who society tells us we are supposed to be—making a certain salary, investing in stocks, buying a house—but by living a life that is slow and gentle and intentional and dripping with love.
Hand-written letters
Writing them and receiving them—it’s as close as we can get to putting our hearts on paper. I’ve got a lot of hand written notes floating out there in the world—with people who I don’t speak to anymore. I don’t regret them. I loved big and it’s all on paper.
Mornings
I have fallen in love with mornings again this year. There is a magic in the air before the sun comes up. The hours between 5 and 9 have become some of my favorite. There isn’t an urgency or a push—there is just an unspoken permission to start slowly, to sit in your favorite thinking chair and just be.
The love to come
There are people in the world who you haven’t met yet that will become big, shiny parts of your life. I used to hear things like this and be like…not for me—I have had the same core group of friends since high school and had been too absolutely terrified to meet new people or put myself out there and be known again. And when I did this year, I was so completely surprised at the outcome. There was connection to be had and love to be built—I just had to be open and able to let it in.
There is art for joy, too
I thought that my art was doomed when I started to feel good on the inside. But, I still need it—to say the words that I can’t express out loud—to make sense of this whole new world of color and maybe so’s…This year has taught me that it can be beautiful to illustrate possibility, too. And of course, there will still be darkness. There always is. And art will be there for me. But my sadness wasn’t the magic.
The magic of watching someone grow up
I got to spend a lot of time with one my good friend’s babies this year. I got to watch her grow into an incredibly smart, powerful, silly, and curious little being. On my worst days, she brought me back to earth and she made my best days even better. There is something so grounding about being with her. She is completely present in the little world around her. She brings me out of my head and invites me to sit and be for a while— to create a world that is light and bright and filled with pink and purple and popsicles and Minnie Mouse and snacks and mountains of love—and a zest for life that replenishes every time it runs out. She’s magic and I’m so glad I know her.
It’s not too late
Wasted time has been a shadow that follows behind me—it has ruined good times and whispered a lot of “if only’s” in my ear. It told me what I should have by now and dampened all of my accomplishments with “it could have beens…”. This year has taught me that it isn’t too late to start again. And yes, I could have gotten help for my mental health sooner, and I can even mourn the time that I didn’t feel like myself, but also I can finally freaking live as someone that I recognize. I can try the things that felt impossible.
Humanity is kinda beautiful
After losing my religion in a lot of ways, I thought that the world couldn’t have as much meaning, that I would somehow miss out on it because there was only beauty in divinity, or that the good and beautiful were reserved for people who stayed. This year it has become more and more clear that there is still meaning and there is more beauty than I could even acknowledge before. It is everywhere—and it is simpler. I don’t have to decide if someone needs saving in line at the grocery store, I can just listen to the cashier tell me about their dinner plans and smile at a world where we are all out here trying new recipes, seeking connections with each other, talking about the weather with strangers, sending Christmas cards, and hanging lights on our houses and wreathes from the windows because no matter how much ache there is in the world, we keep trying to make things more beautiful.
So, that is my short list of things that have become clearer to me this year. Life is wild. It is ugly and it is beautiful. It is everything all at once.
If the next year feels daunting, oh man—I have been there. Put one foot in front of the other. Look for the tiny beautiful things. Fall apart. And give yourself credit for carrying on, however messily.
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