I’ve honestly never been one to think New Year’s resolutions are all that useful, so I’ve been focusing more on sustainability and what’s healthy for me this time around. My household has been a bit of an anomaly – those rare individuals who haven’t had the virus of the pandemic hour once, let alone multiple times as many Seattleites have.

My day job, I’d hardly call it a career at this point, is in flux. I feel both liberated and in limbo. I’m stepping into a new roll in February, I’m just not sure what it’s going to look like. I know already that I’ll be happier than I am now. I’ve taken back my creativity and I’m writing more.

I’m 9 poems and a few paragraphs into the New Year. I’m smiling more often, and engaging in true conversation with the people I care about. I feel whole again. Never stay in a position where your cup isn’t being refilled. I’ve told it to so many people; it just took me forever to figure out that this was happening to me. I’m seeking out chances to be happy and to be at a table of my own choosing.

If I can dream big impossible goals into life, can this also be the year that no bigot is given quarter or a measure of power? Literally anywhere? I don’t care if they solved the cure to cancer, made the most amazing company in the world, or wrote songs to make angels weep at their beauty. Put them back in isolated romper rooms where the only damage they can cause is to a lego structure of their own making.

I started in poetry so I suppose it’s fitting I am circling back to it while I get my breath and writing cadence for fiction back. How about the rest of you? How is the price of eggs in your corner of the world? I’m too exhausted to want to panic about what may happen with our supposed faulty supply chains. If this continues, I may look and sound more vegetarian by summer whether I want to or not. I’ll do what I can and not worry about the rest. I guess that’s all any of us really can do.