Welcome to a new year.
I was sitting doing a mock GCSE, and was bored. So I wrote. I wrote about the empty blanket of snow outside that was waiting for us to mark it, for us to define what it would be. To make pictures with it, or ruin it.
Two Thousand and Eighteen. Welcome to a new year. I kinda feel that way about this year. That we, I, have a new year ahead of us, and it’s blank, empty, awaiting for our words to fill the pages of it. Mixing metaphors. It sounds weird, I know, and yet I do it all the time. I do that, too – jump from one thing to another. It’s the start of a new year. I don’t know what this year will bring. The past year has just been, hard. Hard is the only word that defines it. I can’t really see any point to having lived through it. The coming year is full of possibility. I don’t know what the coming year will or could be. I’m scared to dream, for my dreams until now have never actualized. I hope that in the coming year I’ll begin studying (yet again). I hope to learn to be more present in the world than I am. To learn how to deal with life instead of escaping it. And to find meaning, purpose, in living, being. Tall order? I think so. I doubt I’m going to look back at this, for no, I don’t see it as possible. But it’s good to dream. So long as I do my part in making it happen.
What do you want from this year? What do you think this year can mean to you?