i’m going to breathe deeply and savor every breath.

i’m going to be thankful for the people and things that surround me.

i’m going to love myself and all my imperfections.

and then i’m going to close my eyes and surrender to the passing of time, to the closing of a year.

goodbye 2011. i was here.

the days between christmas and new years are the worst — curiously anticlimactic and yet oddly anticipatory. everyone seems to breeze through the days at a hurried pace, rushing to get to the new year — there, everything will be shiny and fresh and untouched; there, we can start again, with a spring in our step and a freshly cleansed palate.

and there, we realize, as we have before, that the new year is really just like the old one — that nothing is ever erased or forgotten; that we are the sum of all our days, no matter how important or ordinary.

i have trouble with these in-between days — something always feels a bit off, and i’m coming to understand that it’s because i’m expecting something from the new year that i know will never really come. so i try to find some balance in the mix, to temper the lows with the highs, the goodbyes with the hellos, and the introspection with a little reckless abandon.

this december is no different. sure, there is work to be done, there are goodbyes to be said, and there are resolutions to be reached, but the wheels are already turning. the annual cleanse is beginning and i know that there are always a few golden moments of peace waiting for me just before the dawn.

it was a sweet life, built upon a foundation of fairytales and happily-ever-afters and white horses and true loves — the stuff of dreams. the stuff we’re all programmed to think we need. the stuff that doesn’t really exist, at least not in that make-believe, fantasy world way. it’s been hard for me to let go of my great expectations, of my yearnings for a little nest of perfection in the universe, but as hard as it is to let go, the older i get, the harder it is to hold on. i’ve seen enough of life to know better.

life is messy. it hurts. we cry. sometimes we lose. sometimes we laugh.

true, i’m not where i thought i would be, but my journey has taken me to people and places and things i never dreamed i’d see. no, it isn’t perfect, but it’s a life filled with beauty of another kind — of discovery, of surprise, of truth.

and i’m trying my best to love it.  really, i am — even on those dark days when i want to walk away from everything and find a magic “reset” button, even on those days when i’m suffocating under the weight of my decisions.  especially on those days.

*this* all i have. *this* is everything i’ll ever know. and realizing that is the best birthday gift ever.

i think perhaps my little sis said it best a few years ago: this birthday should be a celebration of all of these things; of life’s imperfections and the silly idea that we humans sometimes entertain when we think that what we have is not absolutely precious just as it is.

indeed.

it wasn’t always easy,
and the words didn’t always cooperate,
but i was able to successfully close out a third december of daily posts.

thank you to those who followed along, and to those who journeyed with me.

cheers to you, my friends,
and to this shiny new year.

here’s to making it count.

i’m going to breathe deeply and savor every breath.

i’m going to be thankful for the people and things that surround me.

i’m going to love myself and all my imperfections.

and then i’m going to close my eyes and surrender to the passing of time, to the closing of a year.

goodbye 2010.  i was here.

and there, we realize, as we have before, that the new year is really just like the old one — that nothing is ever erased or forgotten; that we are the sum of all our days, no matter how important or ordinary.

i have trouble with these in between days — something always feels a bit off, and i’m coming to understand that it’s because i’m expecting something from the new year that i know will never really come. the slates will not be cleaned, the scores will not be evened, the tables will not be turned. it’s just another day, really.

so maybe it’s all in the perspective.
sure, it’s just another day, but it’s a day filled with possibility and promise.

every day is a chance to get it right,
a chance to make a difference,
a chance to start again.

there is only one day left,

always starting over:

it is given to us at dawn

and taken away from us at dusk.

(j.p. sartre)

make it count.

i think everyone who knows me will agree that i am a very reserved person. if you disagree than you either don’t know me at all, or you know me much too well. i happen to be someone who believes that words are powerful. i don’t feel comfortable slinging them around casually because i’ve come to understand that the echos can go on forever. in an instant i can recall the most hurtful thing that was ever said to me — the tone, the inflection, the words — they are all etched permanently in my mind. once said, something can never be unsaid.

perhaps that is why i have so many secrets.

i don’t think i’m the only one. it isn’t that i’m purposefully hiding things, it’s just that there are moments in my life that i choose not to share. i choose not to put them into words — some because they are too painful, others because they are too beautiful, and then there are a few that are just too sacred. it’s almost as if assigning words to them would place an artificial limit on the experience itself. the power of some moments is found in the spaces between words, in the things left unsaid, in the telling silences.

*december 15* is one of the days that i cannot put into words. it also happens to be one of the true defining moments of my life. the only person who knows of this day is the person who lived it with me. the real beauty of the experience is that it exists only for us. it is a ’shared’ secret that remains so through an absolute, unspoken trust. that day transformed, empowered and enlightened me. that day was a turning point in my life.

and just like that, i’ve already said too much.

the words get in the way of the message, which is this: your life can change in a moment. it isn’t important that you know what happened that december, only that i heard what i needed to hear — and that the message did not come in words.

sometimes you have to close your eyes to truly see.

*this* is my deepest secret.

how do you sum up a relationship in words? years of falling asleep together, laughing together, building a life together — are there words enough to say what it all meant?

perhaps just this: it mattered. you mattered. we mattered.

no, it didn’t last forever.

no, it wasn’t our happily ever after.

but it was special, and for a time, it was ours.

i feel like we just finished saying hello.

thank you for bottles and bottles of beaujolais nouveau, and for always holding my hand, and for showing me how the dc skyline twinkles from the air force memorial.

bonne chance, my friend.

i saw in us so much more.

the best things in life are always the most elusive — they are the things that we must chase, the things that push us to our limits; challenge our character; shake us to the very core of our being; and they are, ultimately, the things that define us. not because they evade our grasp, but because they make us persevere in spite of everything — the darkness, the fear, the pain, the doubt, the uncertainty — no cost too great, no mountain too high, full steam ahead — until we make it through to the other side, to that best thing. and beyond.

so
hold on,
go the distance,
stay the course,
plod on,
stop at nothing,
leave no stone unturned,
soldier on,
stick it out,
hang in there —

no, it won’t be easy;
yes, it will hurt — truly, madly, deeply, and sometimes more than it seems possible to bear;
but the best things in life are always the hardest to grasp.

they’re also what make life worth living.