Is it just me or have we been blind-sighted by the swift arrival of Christmas and the impending end of 2015? Perhaps I haven’t been paying enough attention to time carrying us along on a train to older age, because I’ve been distracted with despising house shares, commuting in a hell tube, and eavesdropping on strangers’ dates. So maybe it’s time to take stock of 2015? OK, you’ve twisted my arm. Let’s do this.
This time last year, I was saying a sad but necessary goodbye to my work as a therapist; my optimistic thoughts telling me all I needed was a break, and I would be back to it in no time. But it’s been 12 months and I haven’t gone back to it. Instead, I’ve written about my journey towards and away from it elsewhere.
I’ll be honest; I had very little hope for this year and for myself, owing in part to my new-found superstition that good things only happened in my life during the even years (1986, 1990, 2000, 2012, 2014 – 1986 was the year of my birth, which obviously, turned out to be a great thing). To that end, 2015 looked like the square peg to the round hole (ditch) that had been my life up until that point.
Yet how wrong I was! Unpredictable change forced me to become flexible, and even dare I say, adaptable. And most importantly, this was the year I took my lifelong hopes of becoming a writer into my own hands.
This year has tested me too, and ended up being the year I finally lost faith in online dating, which I still held a slither of hope about in 2014. Even now I’m half expecting the faith to return, which it hasn’t, but a good friend reminded me that considering we’re an ageing population due to live to 100, if I can’t meet someone in the next 70 years allotted to me, there is something much worse going on with me than just my failed dating prowess. I believe I am not a terrible person, so that bleak reminder brings both hope and bitter reality.
Dating aside, I’ve found so much success writing wise this year I’m always afraid I’m going to get run over or attacked, just so things are balanced out in the universe. I’ve been able to get jobs writing for online magazines, allowing me to review my favourite films, books and exhibitions. I’ve gotten thousands of hits on my blog, started a podcast and even published a book of poetry. Moreover, I finished writing a book that has been rejected by 20 – 30 agents which has somehow taught me more than I could have known about myself before this year, and on the whole, made me a much better writer. Even celebrating my failures shows the leaps and bounds I’ve made in my mental and emotional development (or demonstrates my final descent into madness, you decide).
I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop so I’m not one to celebrate for longer than half an hour, but I’ll openly give myself a pat on the back and shameful pride be damned!
In fact, let’s all give ourselves pats on the back for chasing something we wanted this year, big or small, and for not murdering anyone even if the thought has crossed our minds every day since 1st January 2015 – especially if you’re a commuter in London. I’m going to high five myself later, in private because you know, British.
This year’s been amazing and filled with life lows and epic highs, and in hindsight I wouldn’t change it. So here’s hoping my superstition about even numbers still holds true in 2016.
Image credit: Umbrella by Sebastian Langer from the Noun Project