Last day of the year. The day I am unbearably sentimental, unabashedly hopeful, and slightly superstitious. The day I buy black-eyed peas and grumble when no one will eat them. The day I hang up the new calendar and see nothing but possibility in front of me. The day I make my intention to keep practicing.
My life is one big practice session. I practice yoga. I practice writing. I practice keeping my mouth shut. I practice speaking up. I practice taking risks. I practice being kinder. I practice forgiving. I practice being a better mother, better wife, better friend.
I fall down a lot.
But I keep practicing.
I tell the kids I teach to “keep practicing.” The same little girl always yells out “Practice makes perfect!” I smile at her enthusiasm, even if I don’t agree. Practice is practice. There is no perfect. I want to tell her, “Practice makes better,” but she’ll figure that out herself in about forty years.
Happy 2016, my beautiful friends. I will not be perfect again this year no matter how much I practice.
But I’ll be practicing.