The woods outside my house is shrouded in fog. It’s New Year’s Day and I feel just as foggy as the woods. Not because I stayed up into the wee hours, partying, clinking glasses, making promises to myself for the next year. I didn’t. I went to bed before midnight after tucking my son in his, kissing my husband, listening to the bang-crack of fireworks from near and far, faint and loud all around.
I woke up this morning and without even seeing the mist on the trees I felt the fog settle in. Cloaking. Touching my edges and sending me into myself.
New Year’s Days are made for wondering what will be ahead. They are hopeful, melancholy, whimsical creatures. They are wishes and they are wanting.
But they cannot tell you the future. They cannot promise the dream come true. That power exists in every day after.
If you had told me last year at this time how the future year would shape up, how much change would come, how much I would see, do, accomplish and uncover, I do not know if I would have believed you. I don’t know if you could have made me believe even if you gave me a glimpse.
As I lay in the dark last night, I tried to remember last New Year’s Eve. I couldn’t for a while. I confused it with two years before. I was certain it wasn’t that one three years prior. I had to go back and look on my phone, scroll through a year of pictures so much more brilliant than I was expecting. A year far fuller than seemed possible.
When I reached the videos I took of my son that night, he was little, he was Star Wars obsessed. He, too, has changed so much this year. We made churros and talked about the Force. We had no idea who we would be just one year later.
I scrolled to the picture I posted the next morning. My one statement for what I hoped my year would hold.
2016 had eclipsed the end of 2015. I had done the thing I purposed in my heart to do:
Be curious and have adventures.
This year, foggy and hidden away as it has begun, I purpose to do the same. To put down on paper the hope of tomorrow. To promise myself I will live fully and bravely, be bold, but kind. I will win some battles and I will take some giant, frightening leaps.
And next New Year’s Day I will not remember what I did that final night of that other year because I will be full of hundreds of nights and many more dreams come true.