Everyone is writing about the same thing.

It’s a little strange to think that so many people all over the world are writing about the New Year right now.

We’re all aware of the passage of time, no more so than at the beginning and the end of the year.

It’s strange that we hold so much to our need to contain the world around us, a system to mark our lives travelling through the universe.

Days and minutes and years to mark how long we’re alive.

 

The new year is so filled with possibilities. So ripe and ready for plucking.

It’s a time to be born anew.

 

Come January 1st we have the hope to be a better version of ourselves, to edit out our futures with a more positive version of us.

Where we can be more motivated, more passionate, where we can have the courage to jump up and go for our dreams, unburdened by reality and our day to day lives, that weigh us down with their mundanity.

For a brief moment we are unstoppable, invincible, held up by our ambitions, staring up at the stars.

And we set ourselves goals set on this moment, this moment of invincibility, and project our plans for the year onto it.

We believe the greatest of ourselves for a second.

 

And  I can’t decide whether thats hopeful or cruel.

To put a weight of expectation of the hope of a dream self, onto our daily lives where there are so many constraints stopping us, hindering us from reaching our dream potential.

As well as the difference between our true selves and our dream selves.

 

But I suppose that, if even for a moment, we give ourselves an unburdened chance to be ourselves, the version free of self doubt, criticism, and unnecessary pressure, and if we can hold onto that and allow it to buoy us up for the next year.

To try and spread out that surge of hope within us and allow it to blossom in our chests, and though it will surely falter, and we will be hard and unkind to ourselves. That along the way to better ourselves we will stumble, sometimes we will land in the dirt. Others, we will catch ourselves before we touch the ground.

To remember the feeling of belief in ourselves, in our secret dreams, that we can trust ourselves a little more, allow ourselves a little more space to breathe them.

 

I read somewhere about focusing on the things we’re excited for in the coming year, rather than the things we will ultimately make ourselves feel bad about in 11+ months.

I am verging on both, on the hopeful dreams and the exciting things too.

I definitely am not going to keep to the regular plan to feel disappointed with myself at the end of the year.

 

I’m trying to focus on the things that make me happy, make me excited about life!

Just to try and keep some of that sense of possibility, and set some loose goals for things that will help me become a better version of me, with more joy rather than pressure.

With things I love, everything that makes me feel more alive, things I’ve put off for so long, to succumb to what I want.

 

Like making myself a feminist library, reading at least one feminist book a month (a small goal, but achievable!), to learn Spanish, to visit another country, to go to England and see my family, and other things I won’t bore you with.

Mainly I am reverting to lists.

A thing me and my younger sister have a pastime of doing together, making plans of the future, celebrations of the past. Lists of things to do, and read, and watch, and eat.

It’s a nice thing to do for a slightly organisational freak like me.

(Highlighter use included).

 

May all us have a year where we believe we can be our best selves, even if we relax and allow that to be a more human, attainable version of us.

Just happier.

To choosing happiness and finding laughter in 2018.

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