Holy shit, it’s 2023, January 7th to be exact, about an hour into the day, and it’s just dawning on me that the past year has come to a close. That chapter in my life is over and I’m about to start a new one, but in reality, does the turning of the clock even matter?

Not to sound like a pretentious and overly philosophical asshole who wants to make everything seem trivial to boost their own ego, but the construct of a year is stupid. Every year there are resolutions and goals and aspirations and every time something goes awry we just say “maybe next year.” As if we’re going to magically be able to accomplish it in 365 days. If we give up after the first go and put our trust in time then we will never get anywhere. There is only success in persistence and determination.

This could just be my own experience and failures that have made me feel bittersweet about midnight on January 1st, and I’m contradicting myself by explaining the “growth of the year” but I think that these scattered thoughts have started to congeal together this past year.

I’ve turned a corner and can see a whole new stretch of road ahead of me. A road that was always there by my ego and my lack of confidence created a bend that prevented me from seeing beyond.

But now I can.

And I can see how far I’ve walked and how much beauty has been in front of me all this time. I see that taking life too seriously wastes time and stops you from taking in every moment for what it is.

I’ve learned to live in the moment. Something my therapist has been trying to get me to do for years. I can finally say I have the potential to do just that. Savor life for each moment and appreciate that every moment is mine and I shouldn’t try and wish I was someone else.

It’s kind of a small victory in the grand scheme of things but a victory nonetheless. I’m excited for this new year of growth and whatever the hell else this year throws at me. To 2023 and all of it’s beauty.