The Year of Loss

I spent the entirety of my 2017 in mourning.

I’m well aware of how dramatic that sounds, but there’s really no other way to put it.  This was a year of loss for me: friendships, dreams, heroes, happiness, trust, hope.  I am not the same person that I was when the year began, for better or worse.  I am limping, bruised and broken, to the finish line, barely able to comprehend that I made it.

But I did make it, and that’s what matters.

I’ve had bad years before.  We all do.  The thing that’s a little different this time around is that there’s no desire to “get back to normal”, because whatever IS “normal” for me has changed.  I don’t want the things I used to want or the dreams or goals I used to strive for.  Whatever used to guide me forward is missing.  

My motto, for the past five years, has been one word: “believe”.  I wore it around my neck until I had it tattooed it on my skin (for those wondering, no, I don’t regret it.  It is still a reminder, just… a different one).  It’s not my motto anymore-- it can’t be--but I’m not sure what IS.  I feel like I’m treading water, waiting for the current to pull me wherever it desires.  

While the lack of pressure is kind of a relief, I’m not sure if it’s the best way to start a new year.

But what do I know?

(Not much.)

I used to write year-end posts filled with positivity, gratitude, and fond memories.  While 2017 wasn’t completely devoid of that, I’m not sure if it’s the best idea for me to linger in those memories.  It’s time to move on.  Take my hard-earned lessons and go.

And so 2018 unfurls in front of me like a great, white canvas.

As for you, readers, I hope that 2017 was kind to you, and that this next, new year brings you as many good things as you deserve.