A younger me decided, once upon a time, to measure success in my life by whether or not the me from one year ago could have imagined if I'd be where I am today. In other words, success involved embracing the unknown and letting it take me places I couldn't foresee.
By that measure, I seem to have had a wildly successful year - in that, just one short year ago, I was deep in grief and "celebrated" new year's by putting myself to bed, because I didn't want to be awake for midnight, because I didn't want to see a new year without Sylvester.
This year, I am traveling to another state, and dragging my recalcitrant teenager along, so we can (hopefully) dance all night and raucously welcome in the new year amongst a crowd of near-strangers.
What difference a year makes. And I am grateful that I can create ongoing space to reflect, even as life seems to be hurtling along at top speed.
And I think about all the years that have run me by, and the changes in how I keep time. It used to be that I would measure the years by where I lived, what job I had, which partner I loved. And since I became rooted in one place, and started to uncouple work from my sense of self-worth, and started to find home within myself rather than in others... I remember the years by different markers now. Time passes me through stages of healing/parenting (Sylvester, self, plants, fostering) and I self-express through creative projects.
What a difference the years have made.