Despite being on my sabbatical, I’ve had little time alone this year. I’m not complaining, exactly. I’m adjusting. Committing to life with someone means compromise…sometimes a lot of compromise.
But now? Now he’s off playing his annual poker game with his golfing crew and I’m sitting on the cold concrete stoop in the sun and unseasonable temps. I’m wearing socks Kim’s mom knitted and Crocs and sweats that match neither. I have mascara from last night still holding lashes in place (albeit not in the shape intended) and giving me that crazed NY hipster look that completely clashes with my otherwise hideous hair and outfit.
I can hear a plane thousands of feet above me taking people home and away, and a few birds chattering and probably asking each other why they didn’t migrate. A MARTA train is rolling down the tracks just far enough away to sound romantic and rumbly, and I am trying to find peace of mind away from the cats for reflecting.
It’s been a hell of a year for us, mostly in a good way but with a lot of upheaval and growth in unexpected places (including but not limited to my waistline). We staged the house, we looked for houses, we made offers and we were disappointed. We moved to an apartment we looked at more houses, we looked at land in North Carolina and we were disappointed more. We bought the condo and worked for several months with a team of amazing people to make it into a home.
We lost Amber and brought Monty home. We struggled with The Mc’s moms deteriorating physical and mental health. I let go of some friendships and rekindled half a bijillion old ones, making new ones along the way. I got sucked into facebook and twitterville, and enjoyed every second of it. I took a metric shit ton of photographs no one will ever see, and knitted far less than I intended. My blogging atrophied, possibly the side effect of happiness, but more likely the side effect of being too busy to sleep and always having a kitten in my lap if I was home long enough to sit down.
I brought my relationship with the Big G to a new level, and branded my skin to celebrate it. I washed the gray right out of my hair, and let it come back like a college aged child on summer break.
In the next year, I don’t know what I’ll do or who I’ll be on the other end but I know this: there will be more love, more laughter, less taking myself so damn seriously at work (and IRL), more travel, more reading, more knitting and more photography.
There will be more time with friends and hopefully family, marking the miles and the days with laughter that makes your face hurt and stories that will keep me warm when I’m old(er).
I hope the same for you. I hope that this year you feel more love in your heart than you ever have. I hope that the world brings you unexpected and wonderful surprises. I hope that any bad is washed over with waves of good and that our soul is able to recognize it when it’s presented.
Happy new year, everyone…and thanks for keeping me company on the ride.