And so, the sun set last night. As we slept, after the firework dust faded, the faux champagne bubbles settled and the squeaky streamers silenced, the month of December came to an end.

The year ended too. And as we woke this morning the sun rose on the first day of a new year.

While the world doesn’t feel any different, I do. I feel my mindset changing, my sentiment shifting, and my priorities becoming clearer. Less stuff and stress about success and more emphasis on creativity, and adventurous existence. I’m mindful how privileged I am that I can say all of this and feel all of this against a global landscape of chaos, strife and suffering.

As I get older the symbolism and significance of New Year’s evolves from focusing on a beginning and an end to something more of a continuum of what is and what was; a continuance of a life being lived. Of a never-ending mortal story with several books comprised of a multitude of chapters. A series of sagas. A playlist of my favourite songs. A box filled with journals that archive a million melancholic memories.

A chance to honour where I’ve started and where I’m going. An opportunity to apply what I’ve learned, seen and felt. An extra long morning with several cups of coffee.

A quiet moment of solitude to reflect on the past 365 days while my dog snores next to me and a cedar candle flickers in front of me.

2023 was chapter 41 of life orbiting the sun. I don’t take aging for granted for not everyone gets the gift to do so. It was a year that I intended to literally live intentionally, but admittedly, I got distracted by grief, frustration, restlessness and agitation. But it was also a year where I’ve danced more than I have in the past four and one in which I realized it is time to let go of what hasn’t happened while moving forward with gratitude for everything that is happening and what has yet to happen.

These past twelve months were passionate, celebratory, courageous, proud, emotional and divisive. I started the year with a great privilege, newly elected as deputy mayor of my hometown. I wrestled with the obstacles of waiting for motherhood, walking away from fertility and pursuing adoption (a path we are still on). I struggled with productivity as I procrastinated with professional ambitions, finally rebranding and relaunching my practice. I distanced myself from all things that used to support my mental health: therapy, fitness, nutrition, nature and writing. I still participated in them but I didn’t show up in the most meaningful way. I struggled to maintain friendships, becoming a stranger to them – and myself. I couldn’t have a conversation with my partner without crying. I didn’t want to wake up. There seemed to be too many dark days.

But then the seasons changed and so did my perspective. I started seeking my truth again. I put myself out there as an expert in my field and I started publishing my words. I finished the draft of my first collection of poems. I started practicing boundaries. I let my wounds heal and I decided it was time to start having fun again. I skiied silver stars with some of my favourite humans, travelled to an adult rollerskating camp in America, and a punk rock festival in Vegas, and booked a three-week trip to South Africa. I reconnected with soul friends. I reveled in sisterhood. I rented an office and I invested in my professional goals. I embarked on new community commitments. I did some small renos at our birds nest (house) to create a conversation area, a library nook, a walk-in closet and my favourite part – my very own little writing studio.

Yet the best part about the year is I married my liefie (it means love in Afrikaans). On the beach followed by dancing barefoot under the stars on top of rolling hills. It was a ceremonious and spiritual day that filled my heart cup full of a joy I had never felt. It was the day where I found peace between that precious nook in nature where the water meets the forest.

There’s so much more I could open up about but that’s all for now. I don’t have any resolutions, goals, insights or sage words of wisdom for 2024 other than to be human. It’s all I want to do. All I want to be. 

That and take more baths and go to bed earlier.

Happy New Year, dear reader. May the coming days and months be gentle and graceful.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.”

-T. S. Eliot