December is here, and it’s as if the wick of the year’s time has been lit, and you can already hear the echoes of fireworks ringing in the new year, lighting the sky with all you haven't done, all you haven't become.
Maybe you’ve thought something like:
This isn’t where I wanted to be.
I should be so much further.
I should have this right by now.
Look at that person…
And the thought of a single measly relative asking you about how things are while the mistle toe looks on mockingly is enough to pump that blood pressure right on up. Because beneath the surface frustration is fear whispering that it won’t ever change. It wasn’t just this year, or the last few years, this is just how thing are and will be – and that seems downright insurmountable.
That’s the toughest part in any story. When nothing seems to be changing. If anything, it feels like you’re going backwards after you had finally inched forward. You want to scream out for something to just fricken give because you honestly, can’t keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.
But the thing is. It’s only on the surface that nothing seems to be changing. There’s a reason that writers rarely use an omniscient perspective – the protagonist scrapping like hell to overcome would suddenly feel trivial because I mean you already know everything. How boring. Every calming breath you breathe, every resume that pings out, and each day you choose to reframe your perspective and fight off the broken shit your brain is spitting out at you – makes a ripple out to the universe. And eventually, those ripples really do rock the boat.
It’s kind of funny how we all get so stuck on “this isn’t where I was supposed to be.” I mean, I don’t know a single person whose life looks like what they expected. I ESPECIALLY don’t know a single person that I deeply admire whose life went remotely as planned. It’s almost like all the screwed up unexpected twists shook the bad shit loose until all that was left was this shining, peaceful, spiritual person. But none of us feel like that’s what supposed to be happening as it does.
I remember wondering when the hell I would feel okay again. What on earth that would even look like. But more than that I remember the shifts. Tiny, tiny shifts that you can only feel on some cosmic, spiritual level. But god, did they bring hope. And what I can tell you now is that those shifts make all the damn difference in the world. Because one day everything won’t feel like it only crumbles and never sticks. And the work you do on yourself will become the slower, more reflective kind. Vulnerable, but not unbearable.
And December will still come. And you’ll wonder if you could have done more, but you’ll believe yourself when you say I really did bring my word for the year to life. Even if no one else noticed or cared, the tiny shift happened and it was mine. I know this is here to stay. And for some of us, that is finally more than enough and more than beautiful.