As far as years go, I’ve had worse ones, but I’ve also had much better ones.
It feels naive to pin lofty hopes on 2016, that the clock will strike 12:00 and everything will magically improve. I know that’s not how it works. Each year brings a mixed bag of tricks — some delightful, others not so much. The secret, I suppose, is to enjoy the unveiling, and to seek a gem of goodness in everything, no matter what shows up. For most of us, though, that’s the challenging part.
Lately, I’ve been plagued by a restlessness that feels larger than anything I’ve ever known. Like carrying a giant toddler, it’s impossible to ignore. It commands my attention while crushing in on me, threatening to squash me from its demands. My life, now half over, has become stagnant. Is this all there is — an unending cycle of work and bills and responsibility? I feel called to step outside of my little box, to do more, to feel more, to be more. I’m done with austerity; it’s time for more.
If I can ask anything of 2016, it’s that I’ll find greater opportunities to learn about myself and my purpose for being here. I wish for enough security that I’m able to trust myself and take risks but not so much security that I relax into complacency. I want the freedom to experience new things instead of using all of my energy in maintaining the old ones.
I long for something to set my soul on fire.
It’s with both trepidation and expectant waiting that I’ll greet the new year. I’m eager to see what unfolds, while at the same time, hoping that whatever it is, it’s merciful.
Be gentle with me, 2016.