The last 2 decades of my life (2010 and 2020) were preceded by tough years, end-capped with stressful, painful, frustrating Decembers.

In 2009, I ended my 29th year on this Earth with a bold middle finger to the entire world. I was mad as hell. I was reckless and destructive and I did not give a fuck. I made bad choices, I said all the wrong things, I closed myself off and indulged in every thing that was bad for me. 

I began my 30th year feeling defeated and with little hope that life would improve, but while wallowing in that defeat, I shed a few bad habits and started feeling better. Feeling better meant shedding a few more things (or people) that were weighing me down. 

My 31st year was loud and busy and filled with the joy that true love brings. I had a tan, I celebrated, I drank, I cheered, I cried, I finally found the man that I had been waiting for. The man that I didn't believe could possibly exist. 

The years following were faded versions of the ones before, filled with love and life and work, laughter and good times. We traveled to beautiful places and listened to some of the most amazing music I have ever heard. Once in a lifetime experiences were had and some experiences were gladly left behind. 

The 39th year had many wonderful ups including selling our home in Dacula and finally moving forward with building our forever home. That joy came with extreme stress and some heartbreaking lows, coming to a head the week after Thanksgiving with a car accident that left me whirling in my anxiety and feeling too exhausted to go on. Sleepless nights were followed by days that went by in a blur, but many words were written in the process. 

I believe that every thing happens for a reason and I understand that life is not as sweet without the bitter moments. You just have to accept them and move on to find more sweetness. That said, I'm happy to be saying goodbye to 2019, but not to a decade that brought me the love of my life and some pretty wonderful adventures and friends. 

Cheers to the next decade, may there be many more sweet days than bitter ones. 

Well, that whole structure plan went REALLY well! Hahahahaha! Here's a bit of unstructured whinery to make up for it. 

I have been off work for the last week and it has been glorious. I checked my email occasionally to make sure there weren't any grenades in there and thankfully, it's been a tame week. I have avoided taking holiday weeks off in the past because I rarely have big plans and with lots of people out of the office, it can be a great time to get caught up without being bothered. After this week, I think that with all those people out of the office, there's a much shorter "rebound" time when I return, which might just be better than getting "caught up". In most instances, that getting caught up has more to do with wasting time in other people's offices, snacking on treats being brought in, counting the hours until you can go home. So, why not just stay the hell home? And, with the holiday, I'm not coughing up a full 40 hours of paid time off. This week, I'm only going to have to give up 16 hours. While I didn't get even HALF of the stuff that I wanted to get done while I was off, I did get time to rest, put up my Christmas tree (that I'm still unhappy with), hugged some family, drank amazing Scotch, saw an amazing movie, and bought a few gifts.

I should be finishing up the last few chores as the daylight wanes, but after being away from work for a blissful 9 days, and thinking about what the rest of the year holds, I felt the need to put some thoughts out into the world. 

I have things to offer that I'm not sharing because of reasons that I don't fully understand. I'm scared, but I'm not sure of what. Rejection, maybe, but if I really look at who I want to be, that shouldn't scare me at all. I don't fear rejection from other people because I know that I'm not everyone's cup of tea and I'm pretty comfortable with that. So, why if I don't fear rejection of my personality or who I am, should I fear the rejection of the things I create? I create things because I feel the need to put them out into the world, not so that people will like me more or pay me to create.

I mean, that would be nice and all, but that's not really art. That's creating a product. Or, is art actually a product, just not what we think of art in traditional terms? I guess that doesn't matter as long as I'm creating. 

Is it laziness? Am I avoiding creating because I'd rather watch television or eat or smoke cigarettes or bake?
While that's what's happening, I don't think it's because I'd rather do other things because when I'm writing is one of the few times that I don't feel like I should be doing anything else. 

I know that I will love my life even more if I create more art, but there's something stopping me from being consistent and I simply cannot see what that is. 

While I am comfortable not being everyone's cup of tea, I am completely UNcomfortable with being misunderstood. When I feel like I'm being misunderstood, it makes me incredibly frustrated. I feel trapped in my own brain and unable to connect with people. I don't mind clarifying my thoughts when asked specific questions, but getting a blank face or darting eyes or worse, no response whatsoever, makes me feel lonely.

I see two problems with this related to my art...
1 - If I feel like I will be misunderstood, I will overexplain. And, in the words of my favorite writing instructor (although I think he borrowed them from Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones), "don't complain and don't explain". You put your whole heart out there as a way to share your life experience and connect with other people, but you don't tell them how to feel about it. That's not art, it's a lecture.
2 - I cannot control how people perceive my art. I can embrace those who are receptive, but I cannot force everyone to love it. There's that lovable control freak! *eye roll*

This tells me that I need to let go of my need to be explicitly understood at all times, but I'm not sure how to even start that process. I know that reminding myself that my thoughts are fleeting and anxiety is just a fear of what could be is a good thing to do, but it doesn't feel productive.

Perhaps this little brain dump is exactly the step outside of my own brain that needs to be taken. 

Will I come back again soon? Gosh, I hope so. 

I'm petrified that I'm everything that I can't stand, but I just haven't bothered to look in the mirror to see it.

Am I as lazy as he seems?

Am I as bitchy and uncaring as she seems?

Do I cultivate drama instead of squashing it?

I think one of my most important New Year's Resolutions is to make sure I'm looking in the mirror and maintaining eye contact instead of quickly looking away so that I don't have to think about and face my faults.

The other resolutions are the same as they are every year.

• Create good habits that will make me a healthier, more productive person.
• Set goals and work toward achieving them. I see the potential of the future and it's eye-searingly bright.
• Save more money! Stash it in small bills somewhere other than my mattress.
• Become a Ton of Joy--not just for other people, but for myself. Joy breeds joy.

So, everything that could go wrong--went wrong. 

It rained.

I cried...a lot.

I wanted to cry more.

I was angry.

I was laughed at.

I did a kick ass job doing double winged eyeliner and there is no evidence of it. 

I washed it off my face with disgust and watched the black, swirly water wash down the drain with the rest of the day. When I lifted my face from the towel and looked back at myself in the mirror, I felt relieved. It was over. The Facebook posts, comments, and messages finally stopped and I could breathe again. 

He played "Happy Birthday" on the dobro, slow and broken, and it was the best I felt all day.

They can't all be happy birthdays.

And I'm okay with that too.

In just a few hours, I will be 35 years old.

I won’t sprout a new wrinkle overnight…although my “elevens” might require some Botox.

I won’t suddenly need a walker with little tennis balls on the “feet”.

I won’t start shopping for an urn or make funeral arrangements.

I won’t purchase a velour caftan from Soft Surroundings. (Even though I secretly want to.)

I won’t magically become a different person who works out, wears clothes that aren’t ill-fitting and wrinkled, and start saying things like: 

“Ermahgerd, glurten ruined my life.”

But…

I will have sore cheeks from smiling so hard it hurts at a concert that my soul NEEDS.

I will probably shed a few tears. A few are good.

I will obsess over my outfit and wear impractical shoes….and possibly a bubblegum pink tutu.

I will be thankful…so thankful.

I will still be the same goof who loves passionately, bumps into things, smiles often, obsesses over cute critters, and procrastinates out of fear that everything won’t be absolutely perfect.

And I’m okay with that.