the year of living fiftyishly

It seemed like a big year (it was definitely a big number). It seemed like something momentous should happen, something grand accomplished, some milestone achieved that would mark time’s passing in a less than usual way.

And it was, and it wasn’t. It did, and it didn’t.

In truth, it was another year very much like all the years before it, and for that, I am grateful. I didn’t achieve the goals I set for myself, although I did make progress towards them. And I am okay with that. Because the truth is, life happens. The truth is that today is one more day on my life calendar, and the truth is, this is the day that matters most. The one I’m in, right now.

I’m waiting for the results of more medical tests today, and hoping for good news.

I’m looking out the window of my studio just now and it’s a gorgeous winter wonderland, made even better by the fact that I don’t have to drive anywhere.

My son is already home for the holiday, and we had a nice evening together last night, just chatting and being together.

I am re-reading The Book Thief, because something told me it was just the right time to do so.

I’m looking at my snow-covered life and making snow angels in my mind. I’m rolling around in the ordinary magic that makes up this very ordinary day in a very ordinary year in a very ordinary life.

And trust me, I mean that in all the best possible of ways.

I’m reveling in the ordinary. This moment right now with the house so quiet and snow still falling and a cup of tea in my hands to warm them.

I’m going to make oatmeal for breakfast.

And savor the simple truth of this moment.

I’m going to say goodbye to 50 and hello to 51. I always have liked odd numbers best.

I’m going to give this new year a big hug and ask it to join me.

I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.

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