Sunday, February 25, 2018

Written on New Year's Eve

The best way to describe it is as too much. Too much thinking. Have I done anything worthwhile in the past year? Because it certainly doesn't seem like I'm moving towards anything. Too much feeling. Guilt overwhelms me with the sense that I'm wasting resources--the primary resource being time. Too much nothing. Because it's all in my head. No one is around. Every three hundred and sixty-five days I find myself alone in this room having too many thoughts and assigning too much significance to a fleeting moment.

It's just that I've been taught to believe that I'm supposed to acknowledge the changing of the years as something special. Maybe that's something people made up to give themselves hope that their lives won't always be the same. They need the calendar to move them from one phase of their lives to the next. They want to abandon the stagnancy and pain and regret that define their current lives, and they need someone to tell them when to do it.

Don't they know that they don't need a new year to become the person they want to be? Every month is an opportunity to look at the past with forgiveness and acceptance. Every week offers the potential for a fresh start; every day, the chance to improve.

All of this optimism and sage advice doesn't diminish the fact that I'm still here, sitting alone. I can deny it all I want, but this isn't what I want. Is it?

<Lucy Cartin

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