Resistance is Futile

Happy New Year! I get it's a little late for that. What can I say? I'm off to a slow start. After spending the holidays in Portugal, I took my tree down on January 5th. Typically, I do deep breathing exercises to resist packing Christmas shit up on December 25th (a.k.a. Christmas Day). My first workout of the year was January 13th. I didn't exactly hit the ground running on a new year, new me fitness regime. My big plan for 2025 is to do less. I'm worn out from a calendar void of blank space.

I love having a full life. Not busy, not rushing around, not doing a million different things with a million different people. Instead, calm productivity, soul-serving routine, focusing on one big project at a time, doing things I love with people I love.

But I had an epiphany on December 27th, the day that would have been my 20th wedding anniversary if my husband hadn't died. Since he died, I had allowed my life to move from full to busy. More rushing and less focus. As though I could outrun grief. As though if I worked hard enough, my girls would be ok in the face of profound loss. But over the holidays in a hotel room that I no longer shared with a husband, I stopped running. And what caught up to me was a deep sense of peace. That was a surprise.

My busy was grief. It was my attempt to resist the reality of my loss. Don't get me wrong, I had come a long way in the year and a half since he died. I had moved through the fog of shock, the anger of victimhood, the practical business of death, the profound discomfort of sleeping in an empty bed. But in the stillness of that hotel room, I felt acceptance sink into my bones. I quit resisting and found peace. I believe it was Dave's anniversary gift to me. Much better than diamonds. Thank you, Babe.