The days after the holiday craziness ended were not, as I had intended, full of catching up and productivity. To-do lists were barely touched. A head cold hit me, and it was a time of self care and reflection, of video games and juice, cuddling husband and petting crittters, resting up enough to celebrate New Years. And it was perfect, in all it’s imperfection.
I don’t make resolutions anymore, though I do often recommit to modifying habits around this time of year, I avoid the pressure of promising to do them all at once. I just wish the following for myself, my husband, our family and friends…
May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.