New Year’s Eve

The promise of New Year’s Eve is exciting. January 1 is a clean slate, a chance to start over. We promise ourselves that we will do better, work harder and achieve new goals.

This is how I’ve always thought of New Year’s Eve. I embrace the fresh start and make a list of goals. But this year feels differently and I can’t pinpoint exactly why.

2022 was a good year. I got a new job, froze my eggs, did a little more traveling and my boyfriend moved in with me.

Even though I feel good about the past year, I wouldn’t say I’ve been at my happiest. It’s been a year of transition and adjusting to change. I’ve felt like I’m teetering on the edge of being happy. I can even lean over and kiss it, not like a lover, more like when I’m greeting an old friend. But something stops me from saying hello, from letting the happy completely in.

Maybe it’s because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is an automatic impulse for me. I ignore the positive things happening around me, focusing on what’s ahead of me because I’m afraid and need to prepare for what’s to come.

I’m afraid of losing something.

I’m afraid I won’t be enough.

I’m afraid that my friends have more confidence in me than I do in myself.

I’m afraid that life is moving too quickly.

I’m afraid of growing older.

So, as I type this just hours before 2023 begins, instead of making resolutions, I want to greet my fear with a warm welcome. I want to hold hands with it; drink a cup of tea together; sit with it, listen and try to understand what it’s afraid of. I want to approach it with empathy and show it compassion.

My greatest hope is to work with the fear, realizing it’s not some part of me that I need to work against.

Happy New Year to all. May 2023 bring you whatever it is you’re looking for.

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