2024, My Best Year Yet
Life is the story you choose
Dear 2024,
Thank you for your interest, I am afraid the call for this year’s submissions is already closed, and sorry, we do not accept unsolicited applications. Yours truly.
That’s how I intend to start my 2024, like I own it, and I am not begging for crumbs.
2024, the year I choose how to spend my time
2024, the year I spend 0 minutes on job applications, 0 minutes explaining who I am and why I am the best candid-date, 0 minutes trying to impress totally un-impressing talent acquisition experts, professing religions I have never meant to practice.
2024, the year I catch myself one nano-second before falling into the rabbit hole of reels and the mine-field of social media.
2024, the year I could not care less of what anyone is thinking.
2024, the year I invest in relationships and they all pay back high dividends, like set for life.
2024, what a year
2024, the year I don’t shy away to please.
2024, the year I indulge in adverbs, and show up for myself intentionally, purposefully, unconditionally and unapologetically.
2024, the year I do not split myself into pieces and forget parts at home, the year I take my whole self every-freaking-where.
2024, the year I don’t go home feeling defeated for yet another night of self-betrayal.
2024, the year I catch my trauma and insecurities before they procreate.
2024, the year of truth, of soul, of skin, of touching, of exploring, of using all my senses and discovering new ones.
2024, the year I do not have to chose between sex and something more.
2024, the year I stop pretending, pleasing, smiling out of convenience, the year I stop wearing masks, the year I don’t care if I make someone feel uncomfortable, oops.
2024, the year of wows, high-fives, rainbows and butterflies, lot’s of butterflies.
2024, the year of easy breezy
2024, the year I let myself receive, the year I take.
2024, the year I breathe, the year I allow.
2024, the year I love my body soo much I take it to yoga and pole dancing.
2024, the year I do not have to impress, overgive, overperform, overcontrol.
2024, the year that I don’t get crazy getting ready, and instead I ask: what do you bring to the table?
2024, the year of tenderness
2024, the year I release stiffness from my neck, thoughts and soul. The year the tension between my eyebrows fades, the year I let my belly puff out.
2024, the year not a day goes by without a cuddle, without love, without kindness, without grace, without me.
2024, the year I ease the grip. The year of soft landings.
2024, the year I find my voice
2024, the year I don’t bite my tongue.
2024, the year I learn to say “I don’t want to”, the year I do not owe explanations, the year I do not owe anything to anyone.
2024, the year I do not ruminate, it is either a hell yes or a hell no.
2024, the year I ask, and ask, and ask some more.
2024, the year I write and publish my first book.
2024, the year I allow
2024, the year of no hyper-independence and hyperfunctioning, the year I accept help, the year I allow others to show up for me, the year I allow myself to be vulnerable.
2024, the year I fall in love with the person in the mirror, the year of uncontainable and unconditional love, love, love.
2024, I live the story I want to tell,
ain’t giving away my power,
ain’t flipping the calendar,
time can follow suit,
or get lost.
2024, oh dear, what a year.
