New Year’s Wish

It has been a rough year, darlings. Triggers around every corner, hatred shouted at rallies and in the courts and by our president. An ever growing divide in our country, in our families and friendships. And in the midst of this, my own life examined and ripped apart and started fresh. I have been silent here, not from a lack of things to say, but from a flood of too many. A stack of half started entries that no longer seem relevant, a stack of entries not written because their stories are not entirely mine to tell.

In this space, I am leaving a wish for you, and it is the same two things I am wishing for myself.

Listen to yourself. To that innermost voice. Not the one that tells you what you should do, or what everyone else does. Your voice. The one that whispers shyly, nudges you along the path you’re afraid to take. Nurture it, cherish it, hear it. It is wiser than it knows.

And love yourself. Give yourself permission to feel good. To fall into and out of love. To enjoy the guilty pleasures without guilt. Know that you are strong, that you are enough, that you are worth listening to. You are exactly where you need to be.

New Year’s Wish

St. Pete Beach, June 2005
St. Pete Beach, June 2005

Ten years ago, I moved across the country to California. I had a newly minted degree in creative writing, less than $1000 in my bank account, and no reason to stay in Florida. Even so, I left a lot of things behind: an ocean that lit up at night along the edges of the waves; the restaurant where I learned how to wait tables and accept compliments; the woman who gave me my wings. I didn’t mind. I felt that I was moving toward something.

Between San Francisco and Monterey, May 2010
Between San Francisco and Monterey, May 2010

Five years ago, I moved across the country to New York. I had a newly minted JD, an offer at a big law firm, and a large pile of student loans. New York wasn’t my first choice, but it was a new job in a new city, and I’ve always been excited by new things. I left a lot behind: the farmer’s market with fresh, off -the-tree-that-morning peaches; the moody, untameable Pacific Ocean; family, and friends that were like family.  I minded this time.

This spring, we are moving again, back to California, back home.  I don’t have a job yet.  I should be terrified that I don’t have everything lined up, but I’m not.  I’m exhilarated.  For the past ten years, I’ve done what was expected of me.  College, law school, East Coast job, husband, house, child.  Check.  It hasn’t made me happy.

I’ve written here before about the impossibility of “having it all” and the need to decide instead to have it right.  For me, that means more time with my husband and my daughter.  It means letting go of what’s “expected” and doing what works.  It means time to write.  It means living somewhere that makes us happy, somewhere we have a support network of friends and family who love us.  It means going home.

And because it wouldn’t be New Year’s without a wish, here is my wish for you in the coming year:

Find the time for the people and the things that make you happy, and if you can’t find it, make it.  Do things for yourself, because you want to.  Ignore the people who tell you you’re doing it wrong.  Hug someone.  Smile at a baby.  And, as always, love and be kind to each other.

New Year’s Wishes

I wish for you to be challenged, and that you rise to meet those challenges with determination and perseverance.  That you find within yourself the ability to do what you always thought was impossible.  That you learn things about yourself that surprise and delight you.

I wish for you to be lucky. The kind of luck that leaves dollar bills on the sidewalks and four-leaf clovers in your path. That sweeps the unexpected into your life where it is most needed.

And, as always, I wish that you love and are loved and find new loves.

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See also Neil Gaiman’s New Year’s Wishes.

And the lovely Ali Trotta’s.

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I’ll link to other wishes as I come across them.  If you have one, or know of one I’ve missed, drop me a line in the comments.

“Shine on You Crazy Diamond”

Good morning kittens, and welcome to 2013. Here is my New Year’s wish for you:

Hold on to the people that you love, and love the people you can’t hold onto.  So often the things we take for granted are the ones we will miss the most when they’re gone.  Take time to cry if you need it, and time to laugh as well.  Do something kind for a complete stranger.  Do something kind for yourself.  Cherish the small things –  the first shoots of green in the spring, an unexpected smile, a sentence that leave you awestruck and trembling.

 

And above all, shine.

“To You I Bestow”

December 31, last day of the year.  Such an arbitrary date.  It would be much for sensical for the calendar to begin again at the spring solstice, when the days balance and the light begins to overtake the dark.  When the world begins to wake after the long winter’s sleep.  But we are where we are, and having not yet been appointed benevolent overlord of the universe, I can’t order the calendar to shift.

Instead, I give you a wish for the new year.

May you find something that has been lost.  Because often, those things that are lost or forgotten along the way are the ones that mean the most to us, even if they have been gone so long we don’t even remember what it is that we are missing.  And may you discover something new, something wonderful, something nobody has ever thought of or dreamed up or imagined before.  But most of all, may you find joy, and someone to be joyous with, and something to be joyful for.