I see potential in everything. It is one of my charms, actually. I used to think it was optimism, but I think it is slightly more nuanced than that – especially because I can see potential without feeling optimistic. (And what a heartbreaking place that is to be.) This is why I usually love new years – time, in its essence, resetting – both January and September. I want to hold on to that new year smell all year round (do they make air fresheners for that?). I want to keep feeling like I can do anything – be anything – accomplish anything! I love new years.
Except for when I don’t.
I remember the first time that I went into a new year feeling apprehensive. It was following a brutally painful year of death and destruction. We lost a parent, a grandparent, pregnancies… We lost hope. There was a car accident. I prayed and wonder where the answers were. You don’t go through a string of gut punches all in a row and expect a new year to treat you any better. “We can only go up from here” is a fine mantra to embrace a calendar change with but what if you know there’s still more things that can be torn from your grasp? “Will it end?” seems like the more apt reaction. You are pretty sure your heart can’t bear to break any further, but here we go, testing it again for another 365 days, daring it to disintegrate into nothingness….