So, 2015 is here.
Just like all the apprehension that preceded Y2K, we’re all still here. There was no Armageddon.
A date is just a number, a way of measuring time in to neat little blocks.
Grief isn’t neat, though. Of course, I woke up this morning missing Hugo as much as I did yesterday.
The change of calendar doesn’t change anything inside me.
I think back to January 1, 2014. I was full of excitement, the calendar was full of lots of dates. My 20 week scan at the end of the month. Considering when my maternity leave would start, sometime around May. My baby’s due date in June. So much to look forward to.
My 2015 diary isn’t completely blank, of course. There are dates, events, appointments to go to, commitments to keep. Things to be done. Whereas 12 months ago I was full of beans, today I feel flat. That’s ok, it is to be expected.
I survived 2014, some of the worst times of my life. I have no real expectations of 2015, besides not to just survive, but to also thrive.
A friend observed that this photo of my calendar is blank, and that I should plan something to treat myself and put that in. I’ve not been very good at that, so it’s a good idea. Something restorative.
I am sure there are many among my readers who are better that this sort of thing than me. Ideas are welcome.
Linking up with the Reading Residence with the word ‘blank’