After 18 years of therapy, I feel…fine. Not euphoric, perfect, or “healed” like I used to aspire towards. I feel fine. In a wonderfully simple, stable, and settled kind of way. I’m fine. I’m enough. Life still throws curveballs, I get stressed, I feel insecure and fumble in conversations and struggle to go to sleep. I wonder how I’ll pay bills and freak out about a pimple. I get overly excited about french fries and spill beer…everywhere. I panic at meals sometimes and wonder if I’ll ever really love my body.
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I love tradition, and ritual, and ceremony. And even though I chose not to write resolutions, I wanted to honor the end of a year. I wanted to use the transition as an opportunity to reflect. So I decided that in lieu of New Years Resolutions, I would write New Years Reflections: I would find gratitude for this past year.
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Is this home?
I asked this as my plane descended into Seattle at dusk, the day after Christmas. Only 30 hours prior, I had left Bali’s hot pink sunsets. Looking out the window at the orange, mountain-laden sky, I wondered if this was home anymore.
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I woke up at 3am this morning to a light knock on my cabin door. I had ridden my motorbike 2.5 hours the day before from Canggu to Kintamara, where I stayed overnight so that I could hike Mount Batur at sunrise.
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