"new year, new you"

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sharing sweaters, counting days; 

i go through my closet and pull dresses i haven't worn in years from their faithful hangers.  i fold the garments and stack them politely in a bag meant for the consignment store, in a bag meant for the Goodwill.  i retrieve unworn shoes from the back of the closet and wipe away the dust.  i sneeze over and over again like a cartoon.  i save the tshirts that maybe brian will want to wear.

there's something so endearing about looking up and seeing your lover wearing your clothes.  i'm lucky to have spent so many years dressing in the armor of the Tom Boy - baggy shirts and over-sized hoodies - that i've got plenty for him to choose from.  i get warm and sentimental when he pulls on my red and grey striped sweater i've owned since i was 15, the same sentimental warmth that finds me when i focus on the fact that we share the same tooth brush.  there's really no reason to have two. 

i've gotta say, 2014 was a good year.  i fell in love over and over again. 

i fell in love with a man who has ended up being my best friend.  it's a pretty wonderful feeling.  throughout the night, we turn to each other in our sleep and let our hands run softly down the curve of each others' back, knee cap, or eyebrow.  it's no small event to me.  it's no small event in my life to feel this safe on a regular basis.  this safe, this appreciated, this understood.  i feel lucky everyday.  and bewildered. 

i fell in love with art again (again and always), particularly drawing.  such a beautiful, wonderful return; a piece of myself waking up after a long, agitated slumber.  i return, hot and heavy, to those black lines and shadows, spilled ink and graphite stuck below my cuticles.  i'm surprised i went so long without seriously drawing but, then again, it makes sense.  crochet is such a comfort.  not just the things that i learned how to craft, but the act itself.  a rhythm.  a ritual.  a cradle being rocked. 

so much of the last 3 years has been about repair.  so many of my actions and decisions and whims have been an attempt to heal.  i can see that now.  and as i move in to this new year, i largely feel that that Healing has been had. 

for as strange as this might sound, it is a little scary.

what will my voice be like now?

i pull a pale blue button-down from its hanger.  i go on sorting and considering, attempting to make room for a new beginning.  i look at each article of clothing and, rather than ask myself if i want it, i ask myself "do i want this to follow me in to a new life?"  i think of Sartre, of his eloquent proposition that there is always "a virgin future waiting to be forged" and know that i am standing at that edge, that place where one sees the mountain in front of them and knows that they will climb it, the first step having already been taken.

i thin my possessions.  i pull an unfinished drawing from my portfolio and grab my pencil.  i turn on my computer, log in to this space and start hitting the keys, not because i have anything in particular to say, i simply have the urge to speak.  i'm learning that this urge is something to revere.  this urge is something to give in to.  it is how my future will be forged.  it has always been forged this way.  it is how i will come to know how to use my new voice.  it is how i will come to know this new "me".  it is how i become less and less afraid.

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