It frightens me to say that I’m excited for 2019. It scares me to say that 2018 has been good to me and that I’m looking forward to what 2019 has in store. Why does it scare me? Why does the admission make me want to take cover? Because I’ve felt this way at the year’s transition before—settled, happy, optimistic—and it didn’t turn out the way I had hoped. You see the last time I put my faith into a new year, it was 2016. And 2016 let me down—2016 left me paralyzed. So I am skeptical.
In an effort to pull both my house and me out of our Christmas hangover, we spent most of Sunday attempting to get organized. We went through all the junk that, over the holidays, accumulated on the counters and then got shoved into drawers in a hurry before company showed up. We sorted through the never-ending piles of paper that seem to come from every corner of our lives. While it always feels refreshing to de-clutter, organizing and purging does have its downsides. During this process, I always seem to come across little reminders – difficult reminders – of my accident, of life before, or of what has changed. This round of organization wasn’t any different, however along with the reminders, I found there was also a spotlight on how far I have come. It is the second time lately my attention has been drawn to this and it has resulted in a lot of mixed emotions. But after the process was over I was left with a smile on face because of the very last item that I found.