On the morning of December 31st, I sat down and poured my heart out onto a pink journal that has been my lifeline for the better part of the year. This is a tradition that I have held myself to for the past two December 31sts, to sit down and put down all the thoughts swarming in my head. When we were in lockdown, it was a sweet activity, to pen down everything that I was grateful for when the world seemed to be in tumult around me. It was different now, however, because what initially started out as something that was supposed to be reflective and thoughtful quickly turned into pages (each with writing more illegible than the last) of manic scribbling, detailing every hurt that I experienced in the last year. It was undeniable: I had just experienced the most mentally taxing year to date.
But I know myself, and I knew that if I wrote down every negative thought that crept out of the crevices of my brain like worms do after it rains, I would send myself into a days-long spiral, wondering if I could carve myself into a new person and somehow prevent anything bad from happening to me in the coming year. Of course, that was not how I wanted to spend the first few days of a new year, so I did what everyone else usually does—I set resolutions. Verbatim, these are the most important ones that I scratched out:
“Stop focusing on the bad things that are happening.”
“Don’t get lost in the sauce. Take a moment to be grateful for the things I have.”
“Stop thinking about bad things in the past that I can’t change.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I spent the first few days back on campus feeling satisfied with my new goals—I was achieving them with ease and swore to myself that this time would be different from all the other times I made resolutions. But as more days passed, more responsibilities fell upon my shoulders, ones that I just was not capable of taking on at the same time.
I really thought that I would be able to hold myself to it this year! The first few days of 2023 were incredible. With these goals on a loop in the back of my mind, I was revitalized, even excited, to take on a new year. How foolish was I! The realization that I would not be able to suddenly become a flawless (and well-adjusted, to be frank) human being was like being plunged into ice water. What I wanted was abstract and unachievable.
It’s a new year, but (to my initial dismay) I am still me. The strike of midnight on New Year’s Eve did nothing to change who I am as a person, and that is perfectly alright. Big changes like the ones I wrote down with stars in my eyes do not happen frictionlessly, but rather one small step at a time. I am a work in progress and, with grace, I have accepted that.