I had all of these ideas about how I was going to close out the year and then, abandoned them all. There was a part of me that wanted to write something wholly profound to say goodbye to 2025 and usher in 2026.
The first thing that really occurred to me was all the stuff that I didn’t really care for this year. At first, the way I thought of it was sort of vague, and then, I got to making a list, as follows:
– Inconsiderate selfies
– Parents who feel cool for supporting excessive underage drinking
– Prepackaged sandwiches sold in the airport and convenience stores (you know the plastic triangle encased cold cut hellscape I’m referring to)
– Those metal balls that hang from what are usually the back of pickup trucks
– Tesla trucks (while we are on the subject of fragile masculinity)
– Influencers who have Jesus quotes in their bios and hate in their hearts
– Sun showers (I know, unpopular opinion but I find them confusing and disconcerting)
– AI or generic customer service phone lines, particularly those that service doctors’ offices
– People who board airplanes first and put their luggage in just any fucking overhead compartment that they feel like (these are the same people who heave their bodies over an anxious and waiting line of people to get to the luggage they deliberately buried in a spot they didn’t have any right to claim)
– Filthy water glasses anywhere
– Spilled coffee grinds that stay imbedded in tile grout, the hell with a dust buster or vacuum
– When someone in the most unsolicited and inappropriate way tells you that it’s not too late and you still have time to become a ______
– People who don’t pick up their pet’s waste, but looks around sneakily before they just walk away to confirm that no one is around to bear witness to their vile behavior
– Overrated celebrity book club books
– Magazine articles published by friends of friends who reek of pretentiousness and delusion
– Grifters who promote supplements or medication without any real basis in reality or education
– Hair stylists, dentists or other professionals that leave you for an inordinate amount of time to attend to other clients or patients (I respect the hustle, but I don’t really want to clear my throat six hundred times in the universal ‘come get me please’ way that’s required when they are away for what seems like an eternity
– Recipes that are labeled as ‘easy’ or ‘user friendly’ and then require 50 steps or ingredients only sold at specialty places (and more than one)
– Fruit or vegetables that look perfect on the outside but are brown, mealy, or otherwise decaying once you crack them open
– Cobwebs in ceiling corners that are basically unreachable unless you want a Swiffer line across otherwise unmarred paint or own a construction grade ladder
– A poorly made cocktail (a dirty martini should not, under any circumstances, be clear)
And then, I started to think about all that sparked joy for me, like…
– Meeting other likeminded women in my age bracket who give less fucks than they used to about all the things that don’t matter and care so much about all the things that do
– Fantastic books that pull me in from the dedication page and have me wishing they would never end
– A perfect cup of coffee
– Weather that supports a really good run
– Good neighbors and better friends
– Crispy but juicy grapes
– Cold sheets and a warm quilt
– Unspoken communication with someone who just gets you, and you get them
– Fireworks
– The smell of the ocean
– A song that begs you to roll down your car windows and sing on top of your lungs
– Unrestrained and unplanned art projects
– Humans with unusual talents
– Choosing French fries over salad
– When something or someone is unexpectedly funny
– The endless curiosity of small children
– A long, hot shower after a day of travel
What’s the point of all of this? Well, I turned forty-five this year, the year of the snake, and I am just really letting myself explore what I like and don’t like. That was the shedding of my skin. I could tell you that I have been honest about what I like and don’t like, but that would be a lie. I’ve been incredibly underhanded when it comes to just saying it like it is. I wanted badly to blend. I did. I wanted to be accepted into this cult of everyone else, or that’s what I perceived, anyway.
I thought it was harmless but it wasn’t, not really. And I can’t even tell you that each one, each untruth, on its own was not really all that bad, and it was more the pile of them in the aggregate, but that’s not true, either. Each time I lied about something that works or doesn’t work for me, I compromised myself a little more in all the ways that shape you to be the type of malleable that leads to settling and unhappiness.
It was hard though, because I had to first get over the whole notion of “does this really matter”? I had to tell myself that it wasn’t high maintenance to say no thank you or I’d prefer not or is there another option. I had to commit to the notion that I didn’t have to caveat or preface every expression of my needs with an apology or an explanation. I just had to sit in the discomfort of sometimes wanting to move in a different direction than what is seemingly everyone else.
This is extraordinarily difficult, except that a really beautiful thing happens when you lean into this path. A weight lifts off your chest. You don’t have to remember the stories you told to anyone, because there is just one singular truth- the real one.
Here’s the funny thing- I’m not sure if this next year I’ll dislike or like the things I’ve listed above. I could do a complete about face, and that’s okay too. That’s what it’s all about, I think.
So yeah, you bet your ass I’m galloping into this next year, this year of the horse. Why? Because I’m free, baby and finally, I know what I like and I sure as hell know what I don’t.
X
L.
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