After asking my kids to write themselves letters each year on New Year’s Eve, I finally decided (at age 50) to do it myself!

I could write myself a letter – a letter about the previous year, a letter about intentions for the future year, a letter of love, a letter of reform, a letter of hope or sadness or whatever I wanted to say.  In fact, that letter-writing didn’t have to be limited to the turn of the year.  I could actually write letters to myself at anytime.

So, I sat down and I wrote one. 

I haven’t looked back at it, because I haven’t written my letter to me this year yet, and to read last year’s before writing this year’s would be breaking the rules.

Dear Me,

What a strange, rough, beautiful, transformative year.  Last year at this time, you were oblivious to what was coming.  We all were.  Well, most of us.  I was completely and utterly oblivious.  So much change, so much transformation.  I have heard it said that even good transformation is hard.  Even good transformation takes self-care and self-nurturing to help us ease through it.  We all seem to know that life transitions require adapting time, they require us to heal and move forward, but the same can be said for even “good” change.

The things that happened this year that shaped your year were harder than you probably even understand.  You tend to keep your head down and keep heading up the mountain.  You tend to look around and realize that things could be worse, so you shouldn’t complain.  Things can still be hard for you.  Sure, they could always be harder, but your experience should not be minimized.

First, there was a rash of suicides at my children’s schools – several, too many, young teenagers took their own lives.  One is too many, and the four or five that happened last January felt completely and utterly overwhelming.  All of that pain, the lives of so many affected by the extreme hopelessness of those few precious souls.  It knocked us off balance – it got us off to a very rough start.

We were planning a graduation party for Sarah, planning her entry into college, going forward with our lives.  And then, we got put on lockdown for Covid.  There was no toilet paper in the stores, and the shelves, while not empty entirely, were sporadic.  It felt like wartime, it felt scary.  Unnerving and uncertain.  What was in store for us as a family, as a society, as a world?  Slowly the reality of what this lockdown would be unfolded.  We were sent home to work.  We reluctantly cancelled our spring break trip to Arizona.  All the restaurants closed, movie theaters closed, events were cancelled, school was suddenly online, we were all required to wear masks, and wash our hands and wash our hands and wash our hands….  Eventually, Sarah’s prom was cancelled and graduation was modified to essentially not even be a graduation.  It didn’t seem real.  I needed to be strong for her, but we were sad and we both cried – if not together, then we cried separately.  It was our first high school graduate, and the experience was shrunk down to just be another day, a big milestone reduced to what it really was in the end – just another day.  After all, at their core, aren’t things really just that – another day, moving through the next thing.  I recently heard a marvelous quote.  Today is the tomorrow we were so worried about yesterday.  Today is today.  So just do what needs to be done today.  She still graduated, just without the fanfare. 

We kept walking through the days.

We raised some baby chicks – within a day of bringing them home, one of those little chicks died in Sarah’s hands.  We tried so hard to help her – she was so sweet and we couldn’t save her.  And we cried.  Her name was Cinnamon.

Sarah ultimately decided to not begin college and she moved out with her roommate.  The fear of job stability, of what her life would be – it was omnipresent.  As will it always be.  We never know what comes next.

The kids wanted to adopt another dog, get a cat, do something interesting.  Sarah learned of a puppy in Texas that she wanted to adopt and she drove down and adopted that sweet puppy. 

We eventually learned of a free kitten that we could adopt.  We were so excited.  We did adopt that kitten.  Her name was Cleo.  She brought light into our house – we were all smitten and delighted with that sweet little kitty.  It was only about a month into her living here that we wrongly trusted one of our dogs with her, and little Cleo lost her life.  That was unbearably sad.  Well, I suppose it was bearably sad – we did bear it.  Everything is bearable.  But we were so, so, so sad.  Watching how sad my girls were and knowing I couldn’t do anything to help them.  We were all changed by that.  Yet we knew that things could be worse, couldn’t they?  On that same night, I learned of a woman that had lost her teenage daughter to cancer that same night.  Yes, it all seems relative.  We could move forward – she could move forward.  What choice do we have?

We mourned, but also started visiting baby kittens – visiting pet stores, adoption agencies and we found our little Quinn.  Then we ultimately decided that we couldn’t keep the dogs – that we needed to find them good homes and let them move into the next phase of their lives as we moved into the next phase of ours.  But that wasn’t easy and it was emotionally draining – for so many reasons – we all had varying degrees of love for the two dogs and we had a bit of judgment from those around us, but we knew we needed to do it.  We knew it in our hearts – the dogs deserved better and we did too.

In the meantime, we had a fabulous vacation with some great friends.  We had an amazing weekend up in the mountains with our children.  Sure, our Mexico trip had been cancelled, but we kept living our lives.

Soon thereafter, wildfires overtook our state and threatened to burn down a close friend’s cabin – it just all felt close to being too much.  Too much sadness and too much chaos.  But we always knew it wasn’t – there could be more and this was just what was happening.  We kept moving forward.  Our friend’s cabin was spared, but many’s weren’t. 

School was hard.  It was online and then hybrid and then online.  As we head into the new year, it is online and then hybrid and I can only hope that there is some level of consistency to what the schools choose to do.  The kids need stability right now, but they also need fellowship and their friends.  We need our friends.

Then, in November, all of us living in this house got Covid – we quarantined.  We turned out to be lucky – we didn’t end up hospitalized, we didn’t end up really sick, although, we did lose our sense of taste and smell, and that still plagues us, but it could be worse, right?  Yes, of course it could.  And still it was hard.

Right after Christmas, we attended a funeral for a baby – the sweet grandson of a friend.

Our neighbor suffered many losses this year.  Yet she walked through each day, as we are each asked to do.

This year was objectively hard for this world.  And in so many ways, it was transformative and beautiful.  I no longer have to get up and drive to an office for work – my life is beautifully and wonderfully integrated like never before.  I am doing a job that I like from my home, surrounded by the people I love.  I am blessed beyond belief, like we all are.  We all have blessings, don’t we?  Even in the hardest circumstances of life, you can find the blessings – they are in there.  They are beautiful and we all have them. 

This year was full of change and challenge and full of beauty and freedom.  I know that this year was better for me than it was for others and it was worse for me than it was for some.  But we all keep moving forward – take one step at a time.  Until you look back and see that you’ve climbed up to a new vantage point, and when you stop to look at the view, you gasp with astonishment.  It really is beautiful, isn’t it?  The climb was hard in spots and sometimes you didn’t think it was worth it, but the view is worth it, even with your aching legs and your bruises and cuts from the hike – focus on the view. 

Today, that’s what you have.  Today, this is your view.  Embrace and enjoy it. 

You are heading into a new year, but what does that really mean?  It is not a “new year” – it is tomorrow, and then the next day, and then the next day.  Just keep moving through – and don’t forget to stop and look at the view every so often.  I guarantee that the view is beautiful when you stop to look. 

Let’s see what the next portion of the trail looks like….here we go.