Posted on | January 5, 2016 | 1 Comment
When I sat down to write a recap post for last year, I didn’t really know where to start. In a lot of ways, it was a quiet year, and in a lot of ways it wasn’t. In many ways, it was a fantastic year, and in several ways it wasn’t. So my thoughts and words were all over the place, looking for something to tie them all together… something that could somehow help me make sense out of such an amazingly magical and sometimes heartbreaking year.
But as I thought back on the year, my mind kept circling around the concept of the Chinese New Year, which… of course… is not until February. I’ve never really put a lot of effort into knowing what makes each animal of the Chinese “zodiac” work or what each represents, except to know that I am, inexplicably, a Snake which seems infinitely wrong on multiple levels. 2015, in Chinese culture, was (and is, until February 20th) the year of the Sheep (or the goat, depending, but for my purposes, I choose Sheep.)
Doesn’t that just seem like an accurate way to knit together this year? A sheep. A peaceful, slightly slow, fluffy bleat of a year, where everything sort of wove into perfection somewhere around November 21, when a certain Snake pulled on a white dress and swept her way down an aisle. A sheep.
Yes. 2015 was both a black and white sheep: the year where I lost my grandmother but gained my husband. A year where I learned that love is many things but above all else it is patient. And kind. 2015 was the year that I asked myself what it was… what it is… that I want out of all the years to come, and it was the year that I answered with a resounding yell that this… all of this… is what I want. This man. This son. This job. This city. This Me. It was the year that finally I sheared away the remnants of the life I thought I wanted before and stretched into the newness of my life now. It is the year that will forever be carved into my soul as the year I held my breath as death crept into a still room, the year I breathed deep the cool winds off the Seine, the year I laughed, breathless, in Barcelona, the year I shouted a “yes” into the thinness of air at the top of Montserrat.
And just like any good sheep, 2015 is now shorn and ready to regrow, rebirth, re-embrace what comes next in the world. Though there are still two more months ahead of weaving the wool of my world into something warm to carry me forward, I have to say that the odds are in my favor for 2016.
After all, 2016 is the year of the Monkey.