These are the last days of 2017. And in my head, I’m constantly thinking: I should plan, I should make lists, I should revive the bullet journal, I should pick a word for the year, make resolutions, setting up for the best year possible. I can imagine A, the therapist I’ve been seeing only twice, observing me. Pointing out what I am doing. She told me 2018 could be the year without resolutions. Without setting standards so high they’re impossible to reach. Even if I’m accepting the fact that it won’t turn out as planned. Those mental standards seem to drain all my energy.
The ending of 2017 has been rough. Meeting A was, to say the least, confronting. Helpful, in a way that she made me voice what I was truly thinking. When I was with her I heared myself repeating over and over how much I love my job. As if I had something to prove. We talked about my thousands of journals. Starting from scratch seems to be one of my hobbies. But, now I’m looking back on it, it’s also an addiction. I can easily give up, abandon, buy a new journal and do it all over again.
I have the choice: accepting that I am that way. Idealistic, a kind of perfectionist (even if the mess at my house doesn’t really bother me – my perfectionism resides in the internal vision board that just has too much vision on it…) Accepting to abandon and start over. All the time. And have peace with it, maybe find a way to turn it into something powerful and good.
Or I decide that this is way too tiring. And I have to change, the babysteps kind of way. Get rid of that crowded internal moodboard. Let go. As in: really let go. Be humble about it, embrace the space and time and rest it will bring my mind and soul.
I’m not sure. I’m really not sure yet. Probably I won’t be sure of it in two days either, with those beautiful 1’s on the calendar. If I know myself well, I’ll try to do both. Have my cake and eat it all. So if I hope anything for 2018, maybe it’s just that.
Let there be cake. Lots of it.