January 18, 2013
A bed familiar but not mine; Nostalgic. (Shh, don't tell!) His snoring keeps me on the outskirts of sleep as the sun reveals the promised new year. He cracks the window, letting the cold scrub us- between my toes, behind my ears, around my eyes, massaging my neck and back, Ah! All is sepia- the tree, the sky, the small flakes floating to the ground. It's 2013. It's my year. It's my year to rid myself of anger, jealousy, and bitterness, to enjoy the sun and the couch, to read books and absorb films, to nurture relationships and acknowledge my own needs. It's my year to run the Boston Marathon, to raise money for someone else, to see this new job through, to turn 26 (oh my!), to run an Ultra Marathon. I'll go to Europe. Perhaps reconnect with my Bulgarian love, Maria. Maria! I'll fight this anxiety caused by extreme changes over a few short years by realizing what I love and what I lack. I'll push myself to the core of my insecurity by asking who I am and who I wish I was, and "why"? And when I am forced to act in inexplicable ways, I will in turn force myself to be a part of real conversations with real words and concrete explanations for why I feel the way I do. I will speak. And perhaps I will stop being ashamed. I am proud to be a part of things that even some of the closest people to me don't understand, because these things are a part of me, and though I admit to my sometimes insane insecurity, I love being me. I run far because I love to. I believe in God because I've felt Him, and because I want to. I am with this marvelous man because I love him and he makes life better. I don't paint enough, or make enough music, or climb to a high place and watch the world below enough. But 2013 is my year: A rabbit in the year of the snake. Mine.