A Different Kind of Ending.

This is typically one of my favorite weeks of the year. Basking in the glow of Christmas, reflecting on the year that’s coming to a close, looking forward to a new year with anticipation and goals. I order planners and set audacious goals and run full force into the new chapter. I look back on gratitude at the year I got to live.

This year couldn’t be more different.

This year, I glance back at the year with eyes full of tears and anger and feel like begging.

Please don’t hurt anyone else. Please don’t take anyone else. Please don’t crush anyone else. Please, please, please. 

I look forward to the next year, scared and nervous and with very low expectations and wonder, How in the whole entire world am I supposed to do anything with you after the year we just had? 

This week is different than any other year-ending week I’ve had.

I will remember the gifts 2020 gave me, but they won’t be what stands out the most about this year. And that’s okay. 

I will have hopes for 2021, but they won’t be the carefully structured goals I usually set. And that’s okay. 

There aren’t any giant, tangible accomplishments. I’m not holding my finished novel in my hands, and I still don’t have that dang instagram swipe up. My accomplishments this year feel so much bigger – I survived! My family is healthy!

They’re also things I never thought I would view as accomplishments.

One year will close and another year will open and it will look different than it ever has, I will look different than I ever have. And that’s okay.

It’s a different kind of ending.

And that’s okay.