New Year's is almost year! Er, here. :o)
New Year's Day has to be my favorite holiday . . . ever. Hands-down, there is nothing I get more thrilled about than the promise that comes along with turning over a new leaf and starting fresh. I'm reminded that while New Year's comes once every year (hence the name, I'm sure), every day can be the start of something new, something good, something profound. Maybe it's hard to see, but at each phase of the journey, the best thing we can do is take a glance back, maybe linger over some memories that have truly shaped and defined us, and then turn our faces forward to walk into the future.
Now, before you start chiding me for being so gosh darn Pollyanna-esque, I should come clean and state that I am a chronic critic. It is my most crippling affliction. I resist change, I'm stubborn and obstinate mostly because I poke holes in ideas and feel that sometimes, if things can't be perfect from the get-go, they're not even worth attempting. So I'm sure you can imagine how hard this is to overcome. Every goal I've ever had (college, running a marathon, making my long distance relationships work) has been punctuated and peppered with the excuses I make for not following suit with Nike's mantra and just DOING it.
Back in April, I finished a marathon, which is big. Except, for all of the cheating and slacking I did because I didn't have the faith in myself to actually complete it, the accomplishment feels . . . tainted. It doesn't seem as sweet. It's something that I would think would motivate me to lace up my sneaks as soon as I recovered from the injuries I gained, but it didn't -- because I criticized my own victory. I'm so happy to be happy for others, but for myself? Not for long . . .
So where does this leave me? With some inspiration to actually embrace change. I'm not going to be a happy person (well, happiER person -- I still think in spite of my snap judgments and self-doubt that I'm a pretty happy person), I'm not going to be a runner again and I'm not going to be a more motivated person unless I PRACTICE them.
I'm sure this seems elementary, but at 22 years old, I'm finally getting it . . . just in time for New Year's, my favorite remember? So here we go . . . again. Practicing. Right now, I'm sitting in my workout pants, running socks (because cotton is rotten!), and my shirt from Big Sur (it was the first non-cotton shirt I pulled, but serendipitously enough, the one from my marathon). My Brooks Trance 8's are unlaced, right next to me. I have pulled my unusually well-behaved curls into a messy bun with the feeble hope that they will look just as good when I'm done. (But who are we kidding . . . Lightning really doesn't strike twice, does it?)
And I'm off to practice . . . :o)