The 5:45 am alarm rings, there’s lunches to be made, schedules to be kept. The Christmas decorations and memories have all been gathered and lovingly stowed away for another year. The day marches on, the new year waits for no one . . . . So now what?
I feel like I’m supposed to have some miraculous game plan in place as to how I’m going to fill the next three hundred and sixty plus days but the truth of the matter is . . . . I just don’t.
I can’t get over the feeling of some unspoken expectation where my life as of January first should have been succinctly laid out in great detail in tidy rows and columns for all the world to see.
Instead I sit with cold coffee in hand waiting for some lightening bolt to pierce through my mental fog revealing what it is I’m to do with the next year of my life.
Last year was so much easier . . . life had plans for me, I simply had to show up. Yet now here I sit with this entire year looming ahead like a fresh white canvas awaiting it’s first brush stroke.
What does one do with so many options and choices? The longer I sit with that thought the more uncomfortable I become . . . I suddenly feel like an over indulged spoiled brat.
What to do with an entire year? . . . A blank canvas if you will? The more I twirl the words over in my mind the more resounding and profound the realization.
What a gift! What a luxury! To be able to take each day and fill it with one’s own choosing. How many people in this crazy mixed up world get to do that?
The longer I sit with my cold coffee, the warmer my heart grows knowing just how full my cup really is.