Sometimes, we have to limp to the starting line.
I have always felt that for something to be marked as complete, it must be completed perfectly- or to the best of my ability. 2023 humbled and taught me this cannot always be the case. Sometimes, the efforts of starting, and attempting to get things done even when we feel too weak to do so, deserve merit. It’s part of surrendering, throwing our hands up to the sky in response to the things we cannot control. Surrender is more than a one-time, one-day decision.
Ringing in 2024 didn’t feel real. I watched the ball drop alone in a hotel, with Ashley at a wedding and my little girls asleep. There was no real excitement. I did not make my year in review (featuring lessons learned, high marks, and low points) as I’ve done before, nor did I set any goals for 2024. I had done the goal-setting exercise for the last ten years; how incomplete I felt not doing so. Now, at the end of January, I still feel incomplete. As I began to reflect on last year and what I wanted this year to be, the image of limping across a finish line came to mind. To finish imperfectly, not triumphantly, but still making it across nonetheless. I started thinking of 2024 as a sequel to 2023, the better version. I decided to keep the goals I did not meet in 2023 and continue them into 2024. This is new for me. This is admitting failure. I didn’t accomplish a single goal in 2023, and in 2024, I have allowed my mind and heart to be okay with that.
Treating this year as a sequel instead of a blank slate already shows growth. Recognizing that my year-to-year is less of a brand-new start and more of a continuation of what I have already chosen for my life is not an easy pill to swallow. I love blank pages and clean starts - who doesn’t? That’s not to say that I cannot choose a new way forward, make new goals, or strive for something I’ve never tried before, but I must still acknowledge that my life doesn’t get a redo every calendar year- no matter what the pretty, blank goal sheets say. I have to stop compartmentalizing my years as if last year didn’t matter or didn’t have a direct effect on this year. 2023 had several dark spots, more than usual for whatever reason, and everything in me doesn’t want to continue it as a sequel. I want to put it away in a box of lost memories and pretend it didn’t happen.
As the days of January 2024 pass, it has become clear I can stay stuck in the rut of 2023 or begin limping to the starting line. I can be rigid and hard on myself, or I can be kind and gracious. The only way to start is to choose to start. It’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t feel exciting. That is where the limp is. The daily practice of choosing to begin and continue is where beauty is found (or so I’m hoping). Isn’t it interesting that as we become adults, we tend to move further and further away from practicing anything? Whether working out, painting, writing, reading, watching movies, or trying something completely new, we stray from the practice of it all. We want to be excellent immediately, and if we haven’t already achieved the level we think we should be at (in our age), then we don’t try at all. This is something I am indirectly challenging, I suppose. I want to be an example to my daughters of the truth that practice should be a lifelong endeavor.
Whether this is the grand sequel year where I accomplish those pesky goals from 2023 or not, one thing is sure: my growth will be evident. This is the year of showing up, regardless of how I feel. This is the year of limping to the starting line. This is the year I will push through and begin.
-L