So, the new year has begun, my 39th January 1st. It is my 19th January 1st with Josh. And this year, we are sharing a word. The word is progress.
I chose the word, and Josh agreed to it. Last year, my word was nourish, which I eventually realized I actually used for a past year. I encouraged/nagged Josh to choose a word last year too. I suggested challenge, but he didn't like the sound of that--too much pressure. He came up with Endure. While the word has some romantic associations (Anne Shirley's "For as long as the sun and the moon shall endure"), this sounded too much like suffering, like bare survival, like not quite dying to me. I proposed an alternative: persevere. It has the same basic meaning but with a much more positive connotation. He (reluctantly?) agreed to this. I don't know how much he ever thought of the word. But he did persevere through last year; I did too, and we persevered together even though at times, it was more like endurance. And did I nourish myself?
As I wrote yesterday, I think I often did, storing up as much love and joy as I could. I spent too much money this--last summer, and I ate too much junk food and drank too much soda and coffee, especially toward the end of the year. But I tried to establish a habit of eating breakfast every day. I did some yoga. I read 112 books. I read 19 books specifically on art, fashion, or design. I read 31 books of poetry in October. I wrote many poems in the latter half of the year, dozens, more than I have written, perhaps, in years. I interrogated memories and polished the genuine ones until they shone. I clung to what I know to be true, which, this year--last year, hasn't felt--didn't feel like much.
But that's last year. This year is something new. Josh said we'd wake up to our same lives, but I don't think that's necessarily true. This is a different space of time, a time for new decisions, and yes, a blank canvas. On this canvas, we can (we already have started, today) paint something entirely new. It's not that we won't remember what came before, that we won't still have ink stains on our hands (from the heartbreaks, from the traumas, from the acting out, from the episodes, from the anger) that may smudge our canvas, especially if we are not careful. But. It is a new space. This year can be a year of sobriety, of love, of rebuilt trust, of stability, of joy.
Of progress. Another sober day. Another poem written. Another song sung. Another journal completed. Another book by a non-male author read. Another workout. Another run. Another session. Another term--three of them. Another new word.
I haven't made great leaps today. But I have moved. While, for the past two or three months, I have crawled, today, I strolled. Tomorrow, I may stride. I'm really thinking of tomorrow as the beginning of the year's work as everyone goes back to work. I will try to welcome all beginnings: today as the first day of the year, tomorrow as the first day Josh goes back to work, Thursday as the first day Oliver goes back to school, January 15th as the day I see my nephrologist and (hopefully) begin to see a reduction in pain and bleeding, January 16th as the day classes begin, February 1st as the first day of a new month, February 16 as the first day of our 18th year of marriage, and so on. I marked the first day of winter. On any day, I may frolic or run, climb or dance.
I marked the last day of 2023. And I marked the first day (just a few days ago) of my medication change. I will continue to mark days as well as look forward to them. I am determined to believe that each day will bring good, whether it comes to me or I create it. I will have days, as I did last year, in which I cannot create the good. But the good is there anyway. I will continue to store love, continue to plant seeds. I will make progress.
