There’s a word jumble meme floating around with the directions that you’re supposed to stare at it until your eye focuses on three words and those are the words that you’ll live by in 2019. Mine were warfare, compass and I couldn’t find a third. What the fuck.
I always miss the year we say goodbye to. I miss its familiarity and its rhythm. It’s a known entity…a neatly wrapped package all tied up in a bow that consists of things like my husband’s smiling blue eyes when he looks at me and my grandson reaching for my hand and my tears falling on my beloved Molly Dodd as she died in my arms. All those moments that are big and little and make up the whole. My primer, my archeology.
2019 will take proper time to grow on me yet. I’m slow to warm. But I’m ever grateful to be able to give it a go. Time to leap over that moon.