choosing gratitude

The past few weeks have been a blur. An unanticipated surgery led to an antibiotic-resistant infection that bulldozed me in every way. As I came out of the fog of illness and sedatives, a new fog settled in. One of disappointment and frustration and anxiety and heartsoreness. This was not how my year was supposed to end. This was not how my life was supposed to look.

And yet... In the stillness, I also feel overwhelming gratitude to have come out the other side. I am thankful for those who showed up in much-needed physical, practical, and heart-strengthening ways. I am thankful for all the good — the unbelievable amounts of good — in my life.

So while I start this new year — this new decade — with more fatigue and less strength than I would like, I’m choosing to focus on what I have and who I am more than what I lack and who I’m not . Discontent comes more naturally to me than thankfulness does, so I’m going to more intentionally lean into gratitude in the year ahead.

Okay, 2020. Ready or not, here you are. I see you with all your still-unknown mountains and valleys. And I raise you, with gratitude.

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Do you have a word you’re choosing to focus on in 2020? I’d love to hear how it found you. 

And if you haven’t already joined the One Word 365 community, please do!

muscle memory

2019 didn’t go as I’d planned or hoped. I’m fairly certain I feel that way about every year though, so I suppose that says more about me than about the previous 365 days.

EMBRACE.

That was my challenge and my gift this year. Looking back, I see ways that I embraced the pain and the joy, the impossible hardships and the beautiful victories, the moments I’d craved as well as those I wish I could have avoided. I embraced the grief of what isn’t while also embracing the beauty of what is. I embraced the seven-layer-dip of my emotions as I continue to learn to face, feel, and release each one as it comes.

EMBRACE.

As always, I haven’t arrived at a finish line but I developed some “muscle memory” and will be taking this word — this focus — with me even as a new year begins.

And tonight, as we close the chapter on this year and this decade, I will shut my eyes tight, let out a deep sigh, and give myself permission to start fresh.

right here in the waiting

“There is a life to be lived
right here in the waiting.”

— Morgan Harper Nichols

My One Word 365 journey with the word embrace has been a challenging one. Like a rock in my shoe, it‘s remained an ever-present discomfort — one I wish at times I could shake myself free from. But there it remains. Pestering me to find contentment in my discontent. Gently reminding me there is much good in my now, even when my now doesn’t match the one I’d envisioned for myself. Whispering to me, “Don’t forget to breathe.” Inspiring me to lean into finding and strengthening the healthiest version of myself.

Embrace.

It’s led me to quiet resolve, to inner strength, to vulnerable release, to much-needed solitude, to joy and heartache and everything in between. It’s led me to simply feel. To simply be. To simply hold space for my own self.

And once again I am reminded that regardless of the distance between now and not-yet, “there is a life to be lived right here in the waiting.” And I shake my head at the gentle annoyance of that rock in my shoe. Oh, Embrace... You’re not quite done with me yet...

winter solstice

It’s December 21st. The winter solstice. The longest night of the year. You know what that means? Come tomorrow, the darkest days are behind us.

The darkest days are behind us.... for now. See, the realist in me is compelled to qualify that statement. For now. Because, as we all know, eventually the darkest days are ahead of us again.

Even still... This day, this night, this winter solstice — it echoes my word for 2018... It’s a word I have fought hard against for years. It’s a dangerous word — one I’d prefer to hide from than chase after. A word that stands in defiant opposition to my realism. A word I have long hated...

Hope.

Just thinking about it makes me cringe and scrunch up my face and feel sick to my stomach. Hope chooses to embrace the “darkest days are behind us” moment even while knowing it won’t last forever. Hope raises its glass on the longest night of the year and smiles for the longer days on the horizon. Hope sees my “for now” and raises it with a “and that’s enough”.

And so, with tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and butterflies in my chest, I raise my glass. To brighter days, to shorter shadows, to present-moment joys, and to frighteningly beautiful hope... Salute!

tabula rasa

[photo credit]

The pessimist in me (or as I prefer to call it, the realist) struggles to see a new year as a fresh start. Because really, the only thing that makes January 1st remarkably different than December 31st is that it lies on a new calendar. It's just another day.

But the longing-to-hope part of me acknowledges the new beginnings that come with a new year. I can see the tabula rasa — the blank slate — of a new calendar. It's a blatant opportunity to leave yesterday's baggage behind and move forward with a clean start.

And yet I find myself instinctively clinging to baggage like a flotation device.

Baggage like my deeply-rooted feelings of shame, rejection, and not-enough-ness. Baggage like my insecurities and fears—of failure, of abandonment, of not measuring up.

I cling to them like my life depends on it—when in actuality they're not life preservers, but deadweights that keep me fighting to stay afloat.

So I close my eyes tight and repeat over and over: I am enough.

And with each whisper, my fingers ever-so-slightly start to loosen their death grip.

A new year. A new day. A new moment. Tabula rasa.

I am enough.