at the end of every year i try to do the same thing: sit with it honestly. not the highlight reel, not the version i'd post, not the narrative that makes it look like everything happened on purpose. the actual year.
the decisions that didn't work out. the things i said i'd do and didn't. the growth i can't point to directly but can feel when i compare this december to last december.
i try to find the year's theme — not the one i intended but the one it turned out to be. this year the theme was permission. permission to want things. permission to be difficult. permission to leave. permission to stay. permission to be in the middle of something without pretending i was at the end.
i gave myself more of it than i ever had before. it was uncomfortable in the way that new freedoms always are. but by the time december arrived, the discomfort had settled into something that felt a lot like mine.
i'll take that. i'll take that into the next one.
@diverse_.writes