I’m not typically one for New Year’s resolutions. I think they’re a bit hustle culture-esque and contradictory to my desire to be more mindful and present. And to be honest, the idea of envisioning goals society will even deem “worthy” of chasing for an entire year is kind of exhausting.

But this year I felt a soft nudge to create some intentions for the coming year and beyond. My strongest pull has been towards the goal of making my mind and my own company the happiest place to be — by nourishing myself body, mind, and spirit every day. A few of the words that come to mind: Presence. Peace. Solitude. I’m not committing to exactly what this looks like, but rather embracing what it feels like when I’m leaning into the things that bring me joy on a daily basis. I’m taking a softer approach to this whole resolution thing. I’m approaching my intentions with an attitude of openness and excitement, not putting a set time frame around anything, just setting intentions, giving myself grace in the journey, and seeing where it takes me.

Embracing that energy has led to some pretty beautiful and synchronistic circumstances over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been touched with a beautiful inner knowing and a feeling of divine guidance leading me into the new year. It’s a sweet and pleasant feeling that I never expected from the big business branding I’ve known New Years Resolutions to be.

One of the coincidental moments came in receiving the Dixie Chicks record She Needed Wide Open Spaces as a Christmas gift from my brother and sister in law. The name alone has cultivated so much meaning in my life. Of course it represents the name of this blog, but it embodies so much more than that. I think it’s essentially the soundtrack to my life at this point. Back when I was writing more consistently, this was my refuge for peace and presence – something that put my mind at ease and made my spirit feel utterly joyful.

So I got to thinking more about why I shelved the blog away when it consistently brought me so much joy. It brought me joy during the the mundane and ordinary times and it brought me more joy during the confusing, dark and downright debilitating times. It was something that was my own. It was my safe haven. If I’m being totally honest, the decision to almost entirely abandon this blog was one of both convenience and fear. Life gets busy, but it weighed even heavier that it’s hard to pour my guts out for judgement and criticism — even if I never got any, and even if the readership was too minimal to warrant any. When fear took the helm, I reminded myself that even if I were to never write on here again, the writing I published would always and forever be mine to cherish and celebrate. And I found minor solace in that even though I knew it was a cop out.

Passions evolve, but my desire to write never wavered. I write in a journal nearly every single day; and even amidst the past couple of years that this blog has gone largely untouched, I’ve consistently written notes on my phone, tracked minutes-long voice memos, and woken up in the middle of the night with ideas, concepts and stories to write about on this blog. I’d say that’s a pretty good sign that the yearning to write never wavered.

So seeing the record on Christmas day reminded me that this little corner of refuge was still here, eagerly awaiting my return whenever I deemed myself ready. I have more unpacking to do surrounding the fear I have about letting people publicly see my work, but pulling out my dusty old laptop to write today felt like the warm embrace I needed. Like a childhood neighbor you lost touch with whose rekindled company feels just the same each time you reconnect.

Isn’t it funny how life has a way of giving you the messages you need to find?

As I logged in, I felt a bit uneasy — a tinge of cringe, one might say — as I realized how unbearable it would be to reread some of the corny things I wrote about a decade ago. But I’m pulling my attention back towards my goal for the year – to invest in things that nurture my soul (and heck – I’m proud of this ole’ hobby I love(d)).

Waiting for me on draft, were 4 unpublished posts that have been sitting here collecting digital dust, the first of which was titled “Ready for a Fully Imperfect Decade” and was written in the beginning of 2020 on the topic of the new year. Another fateful coincidence.

It’s a weird paradox that I don’t quite know what to make of. So much has changed since writing the post that afternoon in early 2020, but simultaneously nothing has changed at all. Reading what I wrote 4 years ago was as if I was telling myself exactly what I needed to hear in this moment even though there were years of growth and knowledge that went into those sentiments at the time, and another 4 years has passed since they were first penned. I want to share what I had written, because I want to remember this coincidental moment in time. Even though I cringe at some of the cheesiness and triteness. Even though I’d like the scratch and hide a lot of it and even though I know I can write better. This is what it’s about: rediscovering this hobby that I love and enjoy, setting aside fear, celebrating growth, embracing intentions and sharing my stories.

Enjoy.

Why hello there, 2020. A new decade has a nice ring to it. I have some good plans in store for the next decade, namely to fully embrace the complete, messy and utterly imperfect human that I am.

Wait a minute, did I- a serial perfectionist- just openly celebrate, nay desire – nay, WILL- an imperfect year? That’s probably not the fortune cookie most people are looking to open.

But for me, committing to a year of imperfection and pure vulnerability is just what I need. Here’s why:

As 2019 came to a close, a lot of my friends and family took to social media to share the highlights of their year. Many remarked that 2019 was the best year of their lives and endorsed these claims with pretty pictures of milestones and memories. As I reflected on my year, I couldn’t help but envy those “best year yet” claims.

Plain and simple, 2019 was not the best year of my life. There were good moments, even great ones, no doubt. But it was also a year of betrayal, lost relationships, lack of purpose, loneliness, uncertainty and many, many tears. I’ve shared that with very few people until now.

I convinced myself my sadness wasn’t justified because I have so much to be grateful for. I now understand this to be a toxic thought pattern and a completely false dichotomy. Yet I convinced myself I’m a strong, independent woman who should bite the pain and persevere. This came to be my concept of strength over these past few years – suck it up and get over it.

“Life is good.” “No bad days.” These are the softened social media versions of “get over it.” No wonder we’re not vulnerable anymore.

With this messed up perception of how to deal with emotions (mind you, a perception I had always been committed to avoiding), I became a queen of distraction: work, work, work, work, workout, avoid emotion. sleep. repeat. Despite previously never having had a problem with opening up, I felt like I could no longer open up because vulnerability is weak, right? It’s also completely imperfect and would expose all of my flaws, right?

I thought I had a seamless system of distractions going for me.

Sadness? Meet the fastest mile time I’ve ever run.

Hurt? I see you hurt, and I raise you a promotion at work.

Disappointment? Let’s book another plane ticket to travel the world.

This system seemed to work and I was particularly proud of my ability to hide behind a system of perfectly healthy distractions. After all, I wasn’t moping around eating ice cream and watching Netflix. I wasn’t isolating myself from others or laying in bed all day. But I was far from ok. Because I never allowed myself to heal from things that deeply hurt me.

Unsurprisingly, distractions only work for so long. You eventually get to the point I did where you’re mentally exhausted and perpetually anxious. Your suppression reveals itself in other ugly ways like unjustified irritability, anger, bitterness towards those who have nothing to do with your sadness. Then, inevitably, you undergo one (or many) complete and total mental breakdowns.

How did I let myself get to this point? My emotions felt confusing and blown out of proportion. Ironically, running from sadness was the exact reason I was so utterly miserable. Pretending life is good, always, is not only completely unrealistic, it’s dangerous. 2019 taught me that hardships find a way to exacerbate when we don’t let ourselves adequately process them.

I thought about where I had gone wrong. I had always been someone proud to be openly sensitive. That quality has not only made me empathetic, but it’s something rare in a world that teaches us that sadness is a weakness.

I think social media dismantled sensitivity and vulnerability for me. Spending time looking at perfectly edited photos of perfect moments made me feel like I have to keep up this facade too. I conflated people’s “best days/weeks/ years of their lives” with thinking other people either 1) have really great lives or 2) they’re just way more positive than I am and I need to try harder. I kept telling myself happiness, and thus a good life, are choices.

I reasoned that sadness and vulnerability are completely negative and have no room in my narrative. My new logic became the flawed logic shared by most of the world: “I’m not allowed to be sad because sadness means I’m dwelling on the negative.” “If I struggle, I’m simply weak and not trying hard enough to be positive.” “If I talk about it, I’m not only weak, but also pathetic.” These thought processes quite literally take the humanness out of humanity. Lack of sensitivity is. not. human. So why the heck do we promote this?

Here’s what I am now working to unlearn/ dismantle and relearn this year:

1. We are designed to feel. To be sensitive. To empathize. To connect. To break and to rebuild. We connect over the good, but becomes stronger when we open up about the bad. When we work through things alongside other hurting humans. Sadness is natural. Be kind to yourself when it arises.
2. Discounting your own or others feelings is unproductive and wrong.
3. There is no such thing as a perfect day, week, year or life. Appreciate the good, absolutely, but don’e forget that the in between can be messy

Let’s knock it off. You and me both. Let’s unlearn the world that has built walls, told false stories about how we’re not allowed to feel sad, and let’s open up about our hardships.

This year, I’m determined to live authentically in that way. To never discount my own feelings. To break down my walls and to relearn what it means to be vulnerable.

Cheers to a year of fully being the complete and complex human that I am, good and bad. The human journey is so much more enjoyable when we let ourselves be human. For what it’s worth, I’m always a resource to talk to.

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I hope your next year is filled with self-compassion, grace, joy and peace. Here are some moments from the last few weeks that have brought me glimmers of joy.