Every year I end on a high from the notions of what the next year has in store for me. I enter into the new year with enthusiastic strides, propelled by an ambition to seek out opportunities that guide me towards being a better person.
Just when you think you’re on an open road towards bliss, life can easily throw a treacherous jut in the road that makes you lose your balance. If there’s one thing that’s insufferably awkward to recover from, it’s a hard stumble in the midst of a confident stride.
There are some people that easily recover from this. They gain their balance back so instantaneously that it almost seems like that blunder was just an extra pop in their swagger of getting through life. Then there’s people like me: on all fours from the fall and crawling to the nearest corner to figure out how on earth I didn’t see that crack in the road coming.
This is where I’ve been at since the year started. The truth about 2016 is that I spent much of my time within it feeling empty. I could constantly feel hope for the ones I cared for, but it rarely felt like I could feel a speck of hope for myself. As unfortunate as this is to admit, I’ve always been that way. Not in being an emotional desert, but hoping to be an oasis for others without taking a moment to focus on what I was doing for myself.
What does this mean? It means I’ve let people walk over me. I’ve pretended to not notice venomous whispers about who I am as a person and what I try to achieve. I’ve put myself in a place where I feel like doing what I love everyday seems like an outrageous notion.
I’m at a place where I shouldn’t be.
Isn’t it funny that the obstacle that’s drawn me back into a quiet space of reconnaissance is myself? I used to care about me. I’d happily dance from any small success I obtained and sing loudly at the chance of taking on a new opportunity.
There are flashes of that feeling here and there. I’ve been so outside of that mental space that looking back on those moment feels like I’m reminiscing on parts of someone else’s life.
At the eleventh hour of 2016, I began to feel a spark of that insistent need to try my best to do what I needed for myself tiptoeing its way back into my central focus. I felt boundless – like anything that I wanted was in my immediate grasp and all I had to do was simply reach out for it and it would be mine.
I don’t know how it is that I get this way out of nowhere at times. In some cases, I feel it from the people around me. I feel energized from a constant flow of positivity from the people I’m close with, and I can’t help but swim along with that stream of happiness that comes from being in an environment like that.
This feeling of being so infinite is such a rarity for me. Every day, I struggle between riding along a path of comfort and living quietly, or learning to taking the risks to live out my life doing what I love everyday.
I’ve conditioned myself to believe that I’m someone who is meant to lead a dime-a-dozen life. Its made me silence the depths of who I am and what I can do as a person and just drift along.
At the end of last year, I made myself a promise. I promised myself that I would focus on the singular most important thing that I haven’t paid much attention to – myself. I have so much that I want to do with this year, but I can’t do it if I stick myself in a corner and stay quiet.
This year is the year of me. The year that I finally dedicate myself to being a better person, and take whatever steps necessary to figure out how to get there. I’ve grown tired of silencing myself and what I can do because of what people might think. All it does is make me unhappy.
I’ve dwelled in a realm where I’ve allowed myself to think that what anyone has to say about me matters, and I won’t do it anymore.
There is so much light within me that wants to burgeon to the surface – this year, I’m letting it through.