Journaling the Close

Before anything else, rest.

As the year closes I feel a sense of pride. A sense of worry.
A sense of distress and a sense of urgency.
I can’t tell you why I feel this way,
these mixed emotions attacking like bad liquor on my nervous system,
but I know that it will pass.

I would love to spout new year’s resolutions and all the things I plan to do and change in 2017, but I don’t see the point. Now, this is not because I am cynical, but it is my Gervanna-like practicality. I can’t say what the new year will hold. It’s impossible, and while I can plan for it, I can’t predict it. Anything can happen. I’d raise a glass and toast to 2016, but why waste good liquor?

As I savor the last few days of a year that we will never see again, I was reminded today that I am important, and no, I didn’t lose my self-worth overnight; nah, this is about putting me first and doing what I need to, in order to ensure I am well.


I reconnected with a lost part of myself today. It was a breathtaking experience, because it wasn’t until I felt it happening, like a pooling in my gut and a clearing of my mind did I really understand what happened. It wasn’t arousal, or excitement, or relief; it was peaceful and quiet and like an exhale.

It was water after a desert’s trek. It was everything I couldn’t name, put an emotion to, or recognize its face. It was somber and happy and jumpy and content. It was everything and nothing and black-holes in between. It was the laughter of a kid, the heat of the sand, the slap of a wave; naked bodies galore.

It was I don’t know where my phone is and frankly, I don’t even care. It was sinking and floating and existing in a space all on my own. It was a second, an hour, a looped track. It was encouraging eyes and soft whispers. The sound of a car in reverse. The taking off of a plane.

It was friendly company and stranger’s stares. Distant voices, paper shuffling, instant decisions like bad coffee relief. It was history, present, future and now, immediately, expectantly, more than a gift could offer. It was relief and worry and backstabbing the pain; not giving in and not giving up.

It was renewal.


Be Kind and Share…


6 thoughts on “Journaling the Close

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