The truth is, I limped into the new year. I got there. But I arrived head bowed and exhausted, pulling myself across the finish line on my belly and elbows.
I’ve been working. Building. The last two years have felt like laying the foundation for the next part of my life, and all the back breaking, enervating labor that entails. I’m not necessarily a master craftsman, but my life feels sturdy, solid. For the first time in, ever, really.
But frankly, while I’ve definitely been working?
I haven’t been having much fun.
This period of building has been necessary. I’m glad I did it. I’m excited about what comes next. I’m proud of what I’ve done.
But now I wanna actually live it.
The word for the year is freedom.
Freedom to travel the world. The balance of making the money I work for work for me and the freedom to spend it on the life I’m creating. The spiritual freedom to believe what feels right and worship as I see fit. The mental freedom to make choices and experience what comes without anxiety and self criticism and self doubt.
I’ve suffered and grieved. I’ve floundered and wallowed and struggled and bullshitted and unraveled.
I’ve had enough of just surviving.
So here’s to living.
And wishing you the same.
Happy New Year, y’all.