Dispatches from Suburbia, Vol. 3

2016 was the year of just surviving, just barely keeping my head above water. Of calling two mile walks and bagged salad self care, of swallowing myself whole and coming out on the other side shellshocked and mourning. Of building a soft, safe nest and ignoring the storm that raged without.

2017 was the year of hustling, running around, running in cirlces and trying to keep it all together. We moved in our house, working from home got so so much harder with a kiddo who can and wants to play all day. Of giving myself grace, maybe too much grace. It was the year of sitting on the couch, watching the news, of hunkering down. Of joining new groups, of being able to watch the storm from the cave door.

2018 needs to be the year operating at a higher frequency. I know I do better when I have a full to do list that is just enough to challenge me but not feel insurmountable. I do best when I expect more of myself. I’m not sure what my One Little Word will be for 2018, but I know what kind of year I’m ready for. One where I shoot bullets into the hurricane if it’s all I have.

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