Eleventh hour, 2016

There’s no getting around it now. I’m completely out of time.

I weigh the same as when the year began; I have lost zero pounds. In not-unrelated news, I have also not gone to the gym more often.

I have not read more books than the year before, and I have only started to write more in the last couple of weeks, when I got nervous about the end of the year coming so fast and jumped on the bandwagon, so that doesn’t really count.

I have not taken the time to watch all – and not just the first few minutes until I get bored and just try to do it myself already – of the many helpful online videos on how to knit sleeves without little holes around the cast-on stitches in the underarms.

I have not researched what is the most effective skin care regimen for slight-year-speed-aging skin and whether the Retin-A cream or the serum or the SPF or the eye cream is most important and if they can be used together. So I have continued to make it up as I go along and sometimes I slather them all on and it makes my face sting a little, which makes it seem like something is happening but honestly, the wrinkles are no better.

I have not brushed my Newfoundland dog every day, as I said I would. It didn’t get any easier than the year before, as she still has ridiculous amounts of hair, and I still didn’t feel much like doing it.

I have made zero progress in reducing worry about my kids.

I am often not as mindful as I would like. I have gone to yoga a little bit more, but I have not mastered bound angle or not making my grocery list in Shavasana.

If it is possible, I am only drinking more coffee.

I have not substantively improved my social life, as evidenced by the fact that it is New Years Eve and I am sitting on my couch, watching a movie, and blogging about things I did not do, and I am completely content.

And even though I one time had cancer and promised that if I lived, I would never, ever do this, I still sometimes yell at my kids and complain about wrinkles and gray hair and sweat small stuff. This does not make for an inspirational story. I know.

What I did do that I said I would do is this. I kept my resolutions to trust myself and to tell the truth. To wait. To own my own story – all of it, not just the nice parts. To be brave in private moments when no one is watching and it matters the most. And to work like a dog – an enormous, unbrushed dog, apparently – to let the real and true story of 2016 be good enough.

Wishing you a 2017 which is real and true and authentically yours. Because what could be better than that?

 

 

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