2020 gets some pretty rotten press, and I’m not here to add to it. ⠀
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This year has held loss, tragedy, fear, illness, pain, hollowness, tears, sadness, anger, and despair…both personal and global.⠀
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AND…⠀
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This year has held beauty, healing, connection, intimacy, deeper understanding, adventure, expansion, and magic as well. ⠀
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Years aren’t evil. Bad things aren’t tied to a calendar. WE…humans…created the system by which we measure time. It’s not a universal construct. The end of 2020 promises nothing but a new page in our planner and a new number next to our signatures. ⠀
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Rushing time gives me the willies. We’re afraid to die, but want to speed through a year, sure the shift from 2020 to 2021 will bring more goodness? The only thing it’s guaranteed to bring is the nearness of our own end. ⠀
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(But this is taking a turn I hadn’t anticipated, though I’m going to post it anyway, even knowing it’s fodder for those of you who already think I’m hatefully dark.)⠀
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ANYWAY! ⠀
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2020, you’re going out as the year…⠀
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Of ducks. ⠀
Of drawing inward. ⠀
Or spiritual restoration. ⠀
Of deeper intimacy. ⠀
Of journaling. ⠀
Of confronting childhood programming. ⠀
Of ditching fear. ⠀
Of beautiful friendships, new and old. ⠀
Of new paths. ⠀
Of self-trust. ⠀
Of parenting my inner child. ⠀
Of rest and recovery. ⠀
Of dirt road miles. ⠀
Of Spotify playlists. ⠀
Of finding my voice. ⠀
Of saying “no.”⠀
Of saying “yes.”⠀
Of walking away. ⠀
Of holding on. ⠀
Of endless Progressive Rummy. ⠀
Of peppermint and thieves essential oil. ⠀
Of vitamin D. ⠀
Of nature walks. ⠀
Of sacred rooting. ⠀
Of better routines. ⠀
Of metamorphosis. ⠀
Of introversion. ⠀
Of the hot tub. ⠀
Of dreaming. ⠀
Of editing. ⠀
Of wishing time would slow down. ⠀
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If it was ONLY me, and I could spare everyone else of reliving their respective pain, I’d rewind and play it again. Because, as a heart type, 2020 brought so many reminders that I’m alive and my heart beats and my feelings exist. And call me dark, but I live for that magic.

It’s funny. Growing up, I never considered my dad to be the “intellectual type.” He’s the physical labor, dirt-under-the-nails, salt of the earth, work-alongside-not-bark-orders sort of guy. I now realize intellectual doesn’t always mean suit-and-tie, but I give my younger self a break in terms of my dichotomous thought process. ⁣
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Anyway, it turns out my dad’s voice is one from my childhood I hear a lot. Because damn, the man gives sage advice. The three I come back to most include…⁣
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(1) Pay attention. It’s the only thing in life that’s free. (I would not be who I am if not for him *constantly* saying this. I used to laugh, but always took it to heart.)⁣
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(2) It’s all about staging. (He can maneuver a semi like nobody’s business.) ⁣
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(3) Don’t lie. Just don’t do it. When you lie, you have to lie again. And again. And again. And again. And pretty soon, the lies grow so intense, so crazy…your entire life becomes a lie because you have to keep lying your way out of your other lies. And that is exhausting to keep up and really hard to remember. And even scarier, you actually start to believe your own bologna. So, as hard as it might be, just be honest. Take responsibility. The truth will come out and you’ll wish you would have told it from the start. ⁣
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I put that last one in my own words because it was part of a bigger conversation we had at the dinner table when I was probably 6 or 7. I’d never actually seen Pinocchio, but I remember imagining my nose growing long as my dad talked to me and Emily. Memories are a funny thing, yeah?⁣
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All that to say, I think on these words a lot lately. And I’m glad my dad chose to impart them on us girls when he did. They stuck. And always will.