Over the race and into the woods, just down the forest path – there we’ll go. In search of adventure, in search of snow, we’ll step and turn and twirl and dance. We’ll take this chance. And if, along the way, we find a journey or a day, we’ll know – we were meant to be here in this winter wonderland. Will you join us? Then take my hand.
I’m not that fond of summer. I’m quite okay with spring. Fall is a time for magic, and winter is my scene. But as I sit here waiting, as far as winters go, I think this one’s been boring because we’ve had NO SNOW!
Okay, but seriously, it’s looking like we’ll see no snow at all this winter. I can’t lie – I’m really disappointed. We’ve had some very cold weather, and then some relatively warm weather, winter-wise, and we’ve had some rain, and some fog, oddly enough, but absolutely zero snow. I know this happens some years. It’s fine. Maybe it means next year’s winter will be extra beautiful.
In the meantime, at least there’s tea. And books. And fuzzy blankets. And various other cozy winter things.
Today, I want the world to know: that the sadness won’t beat me, that the heartbreak won’t stop me, and the fear of bad things happening might slow me down, but I will keep going. Even if I have to crawl. That’s all.
*Thank you for your kind words and condolences. Knowing that you’re out there, thinking of us, just means a lot. Gatsby was one in a million, and I will always, always miss him. He gave us everything he could for his entire long and happy life, and he loved us so much. So in this new year, I aspire to honor him and remember him by loving like he did – unconditionally, and in your face, and completely.*
Welcome, New Year, and please be kind – I’ve had enough time grieving. I’m tired of tears and loss, of waiting, and of fears that joy is fleeting. I hope that things are better brighter in this space you’re making, and that you bring new light and hope. I’ve done my best, and I’m still trying, but a little help would sure be nice. We’ll create something together, I know. May it be – please let it be – something good.
I think I’ve cried every day since August. I think I’ve cried more tears this year than in my entire life before it. I think I’ve cried so many tears that the universe had to make extra to give me. I think I’ve cried enough for more than just me and I love those women who couldn’t cry. I think I’ve cried enough tears to fill a vast and endless and deep and wide ocean that only I can cross. I think I’ve cried enough. I think I’ve cried enough. I think I’ve cried enough.
I can’t remember exactly who I was before August. But right now in this moment, after months and months, after recovering only to learn I hadn’t recovered, I think I’m ready to find her again. I know she’s waiting for me. We won’t be the same as we were. We’ll become someone new and strong and brave and happy together.
I can’t say why now is the time, when the time wasn’t before, in September, or in October, or in any of those liminal days in the autumn that I love so much.
And if you gave me a million chances to explain why I feel like I should share this with all of you, I don’t think I could tell you all the ways that knowing you’re out there reading and creating and making good things and putting them into the world has helped me heal, a little bit and a little bit, every day.
Nevertheless, here we are.
Here I am.
And I just wanted to tell you thank you and I love you for sticking with me and bringing me light, and also that I finally think I’ve cried enough.
At night in the dark and quiet I sometimes dream it turned out differently, ended happily, that maybe somewhere in some universe you stayed and we’re together. Dreams can be funny hopeful painful things, can’t they? But in that dreaming place, at least, I can kiss your face and tell you, “Good morning, good night. Goodbye.”
Every year, the name of the game is: “Find the perfect gift.” You ask what I want, and my answer is just: “Don’t get me anything.” And, despite what the Christmas machine may say, yes, I really mean it. Your presence is my perfect present, dearest friend of mine, and no amount of money will replace your gift of time. They say: “Life is short,” and I know it’s true, so here’s what I want from you: Just yourself. Nothing else. I love you, not stuff. (Yes, I’m telling you the truth.) (Sure, bring your dog.) (Your kid, too.) (Please just come hang out with me.) (I promise it’s enough.)
‘Tis the season for light and dreams, and holly and jolly days, parades and parties and presents, and also busy-ness. So busy, in fact, that it’s hard to enjoy the holly and jolly and cheer. But we’re here! One more year, one more tree, and so many reasons to be merry. We’re here, and we’re happy, and yes, ‘tis the season. But man, I’d love a nap.