It’s New Year’s Eve and I have a stomach bug so the festivities are off. I was poking about on the internet and reminded that I blogged exactly 0 times this month. Not okay. I want 2024 to be the year I managed to post all 12 months.

This year was a doozy. I feel like I’ve been saying that since 2020. It was another year marked by loss. My brother’s death in June tore a hole through our family. Three funerals in as many years is a heavy weight to bear. His loss was unexpected, no time to brace or prepare, just here and then gone.

Looking back at what I hoped for this year I see a mixed bag. I got a lot of writing done, 40k words on my WIP (currently working on a new beginning as I hate the first one I wrote), but I didn’t manage to end the year with a first draft. I focused on my health and managed to get a lot of routine screenings done, started a new med for my wonky thyroid, but I didn’t lose any weight or get any fitter. There’s hope on both those fronts though. Progress is slow, but it’s there.

I’ve written this before, but it bears repeating, NYE is a day on the calendar, nothing more. There’s no magic in it, only the meaning we give it. Despite that bah humbug attitude of mine, I do get that rituals and traditions have their place. I think my favorite New Year tradition is opening the door at midnight to let the old year out and the new one in. A change of air makes practical sense to me. I’m probably going to be curled up in my blankets at 12, so I’ll use this post to fling the door open metaphorically.

Into the new year I am going to take the memories of my loved ones in life, bright and shining. I’m leaving the funerals behind. In the new year I will keep writing and I’m not going to beat myself up for failing to get to a first draft this year. I will be focusing on health, mine and my family’s, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other on the path together. Brighter days are literally ahead.