I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. But I do do New Year’s goals.
(*snort* do do.)
(Hey, I know this post is gonna get heavy, so I’m getting my humor where I can.)
It’s been a decade-long tradition: each year, I would write up a little summary of the year that had transpired, followed by a list of goals I’d hope to accomplish in the new one. I’d then look back on what I wrote the previous year and see what I could check off from that list.
It’s a pretty harmless tradition, usually. There were a few years in the earlier days where “lose 5 pounds” somehow made it onto the list. One year, my write up turned into an excuse to rant about my terrible job. But, for the most part, it’s been a way to keep focused, keep perspective, and keep going.
And then 2015 happened. Continue reading “New Year’s Goals After an Unraveling Year”
(For Part One)
It’s 2014. I’m in tears in my parents’ kitchen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a part of me that can’t help but laugh: most traumatic Thanksgiving ever, and no one is even arguing.
For a few brief moments, I allow myself exactly the level of sorrow that had been building up all night. A new and different and bewildering sadness, something that hit the core and drew out large pendulous teardrops as it retreated back.
My husband walks in and draws me in for a hug and I collapse where I’m standing. I only half-heartedly attempt to pull it together when my mom steps into the kitchen; I’m banking on the fact that she’s notoriously unaware of her surroundings. But even then, she picks up on what’s going on.
“It’s hard. I know,” she says, looking over into the family room where he sits. A figure I can’t even pretend to recognize anymore. A sign of what’s to come.
When the night is over and I’m in my car, I sit with my eyes fixed on the windshield.
“I think that was my dad’s last Thanksgiving,” I say after a moment. Continue reading “A Need for Christmas Spirit (Part 2)”