This is my diary for 2020.
Projects progressed. Notes on cancelled creative, teaching and facilitative work. Notes on other offers of work I have declined. Work that under normal circumstances I would have enthusiastically leapt in, head first.
The energy of 2020 did not permit that.
This diary is also bundled with many notes, cards and tokens. Blessings from the friends who kept in touch, those connections that proved so vital to our mental health. To our resilience.
And what a year for paper-cuts. Some healed, others still open sores. I’ve dealt with personal ill-health. Watched my elderly father decline, and just recently, experienced the devastation of a family member’s death during brutal Covid restrictions. This diary is a log of heartache. Of anxious days. Of a year for questions and revelations, of feeling battered and bruised.
For all of it, I hope I will emerge a little wiser. Right now, all I really know for sure is that the universe has plans for us. A future that we cannot control.
What we CAN control are the energies we allow to share that future with us. The people who make it bearable. The ones who think outside of themselves to ask how YOUR day is going. The ones always ready to offer support. To listen. To be on standby with a supply of bandaids for those pesky paper-cuts that might never heal. Cherish THOSE people.
For 2021, my friends, I wish you all the happiest of days. We only have to do one at a time. There will be no new year resolutions, though I will try to be resolute in avoiding the following:
1# Rumination: fuck that noise!
2# Dry January in Lockdown: fuck that too!