New years can almost seem like a cliché, like one SIMPLY MUST make all kinds of goals and changes and resolutions and by February (the darkest month of all), most of it has slipped away. And that may be true, but there is something remarkable about fresh starts, no matter what form they come in. This past year was really exciting and good and pure in so many ways—but really I just feel like I’m still at the bottom of a mountain, waiting to really truly climb. Like the past two years post college have been hardcore training on how to live and grow and now it’s time to finally do it. I’ve got my person alongside me for the scale, but sometimes you need fresh starts to feel like you have purpose and drive.
You can make New Year’s goals but they won’t all happen. Mine never do. I’ve had the same goals and ideas for the past four years. And it pisses me off that I never quite reach them. But I got closer and that counts for something. Next year I’ll get even closer and maybe cross one or two items off the list. But for me, this fresh start is a chance to go. I wish each year you really got a clean slate- new bank account and cars and jobs and the whole nine yards—but you don’t.
The clean slate lives really and truly only within, but that’s something.
But I think I’ll start by picking up my clothes off the floor, going on a longer run than yesterday, and telling a boy I love that he’s better than he thinks.
The older I get the more I realize how little I know. And that’s okay- because I’m really over trying to know it all and reach these lofty heights. I really need to start climbing the mountain, throw my hair in a bun, and take step after step into the sunlight. I need that. I need a fresh start.