It might be somewhat superfluous to be writing a start of the year post at the end of January. Yet, that seems to be the way this year is starting out. In a way that does not hold strict to routine or rules. But flows in a way defined without definition.
I have a love hate relationship with a New Year. I love the new beginning, the chance to start a fresh, the unknown. I do not love the expectations that come with a New Year. The heavy burden to live up to resolutions, words to live by and dreams pinned to an inspiration board. A better part of me only feels defeated before I even begin looking at the social media overload of New Year starts and expectations.
I think sometimes we can be too hard on ourselves when a New Year dawns. We forget to be kind and patient in the wake of powering forward full steam ahead into being all the things, all at once and always better. Kind and patient, the words a hushed whisper, like it is playing against the rules to even speak of them in the same breath as a New Year.
Over the summer as I read on social media that a New Year should “start as you mean to go” I found myself irritated almost through to my skin. The voices in my head arched up “of course you start as you mean to go, as opposed to wanting to start on a bad foot?” Over the summer the idea of starting anything, let alone starting as I mean to go only made me feel even more resentment for the New Year.
Weeks later I can only laugh at myself and how irritated I was over such a little idea, an idea that is full of good. Home from our summer break and I dived into a major house de-clutter and clean, which I suspect may continue for some months to come. I indulged in even more time with my boys. I kept a measured distance from work and the tugs of social media. Whether I had intended to or not, I had started as I meant to go.
Over the years a New Year has always felt like a crisp blank page, a new chapter, a new book even, waiting for me to write the words. But the start of this year feels different. This year the New Year feels like a dance floor. A polished timber dance floor that glistens by the highlights of pink and gold disco lights. A dance floor that holds the promise of endless champagne, Bon Jovi, Madonna and moments of complete abandon. I have slipped on my dancing shoes, given them a twist to see if they are snug and I am ready to dance. My only promise this year is to keep finding ways to stay on that dance floor.
Have you started as you mean to go?
Do you want to go dancing?
Conversations over Coffee is back this Thursday.
Conversations with a Teenager ~ everyone is welcome.
Thank you to Hopeful Rae of Sunshine for this month’s prompt.