I have put so much effort over the last few weeks into alternately dreading and looking forward to Christmas, that New Year has kind of taken me by surprise.
2013 has been a hard year. We’ve weathered a redundancy process, a professional investigation, health problems and a sudden, shocking bereavement, alongside an unusual number of humdrum hardships. There has been love aplenty, and there has been thankfulness, but there has been worry and sadness and care, too.
Things feel harder, calcified. Unforgiving. Doors I had thought left ajar, I have found nailed shut. 2014 should be a welcome threshold, but it stands to greet us with its hands already full of troubles.
Just before Christmas, I read this lovely post by Ruth, who blogs at DorkyMum. I wrote no hopes for 2013 but this, which in retrospect, feels full of justified foreboding, although of course it was nothing more than a commonplace yearning to see and to treasure the gold amidst the dross of everyday life.
My honest word, facing 2014, is “dread”. My honest reaction is to try to run and hide. Both, of course, overreaction and cowardice.
So instead, my word and my resolution is “resolve”. To stand strong in knowing how much I do have; to stay firm when life seems to try to tug it away; to draw on it to dare to dream and build.
And in 2014, to dream, I want to write. Not to jerk and scratch, ineffectually, where others do it so much better, but to take the people and the voices and the stories in my head, and turn my time and my effort to commit them to paper. Badly, without doubt, but with commitment nonetheless.
So: no more Twitter, no more blogging. More writing and more living in the moment.
Woods, trees, etc.
Happy New Year.