I've seen a lot of retrospective posts, resolutions and goals for the new year, the usual stuff. But I haven't done anything myself yet, so...here I am.
It was a long year. A lot of it blurred together, but I remember a few things.
Adventures in the winter, before 2015's spring came to life, standing on the ice at the edge of the frozen lake, breathing in the cold air, taking pictures, letting it in through the car windows with music on. The joy of spring's green and rain and life, so welcome after the year before. Learning the practice of circling, connecting with strangers in a way I never thought was possible, making friends, finding emotional freedom never before felt, discovering myself from new angles. The adventures of the fall, taking half a dozen trips over two months to Kansas City, Omaha, and Denver.
It was a year of new life, new realizations, strange and wonderful things. And a year of growing emptiness.
Standing on the other side of the line, I have the distinct sensation of having been hollowed out. Pain was healed, goodness filled my soul for a while, and then it left, piece by piece. My mind spins in cycles trying to understand everything. Too much. I don't know what I want. I want what I had back, but I know it wouldn't be the same. You can't stick the leaves back onto a tree after they've fallen off, withered and died. There's no going back. If those things ever return, they must be different, and I can't expect them to.
So, with the road of a new year emerging...what's left?
I'm not sure who I am when I'm empty.
The voice of my faith and the people I share spiritual heritage with whisper that in this, I'm still a child of God, and I still have that hope that can't be taken from me. But if I'm honest, that hope has long been flavorless, and my mind is unclear. Ever more strongly, the questions wait for me to answer them: "Do you believe? Will you follow? Can you give your heart to me?"
I avert my eyes. I don't have an answer yet.
When it comes down to it, I only have one hope for 2016, only one longing. All my other wants and ambitions and goals are shadows compared to this:
My heart is dead, and I want it back.
To be brutally honest, I've spent a lot of time alone. A lot. Hours and hours, days and days alone, playing games or watching videos, driving out just to sit in a coffee shop and listen to music and read books I've already read, hoping that I'll see someone I know, anyone to alleviate the isolation. Birthdays and holidays and milestones and good news and beautiful days have been tainted by tired detachment. I want to be happy. I really do. Superficially, I am, now and then. But I can count on my fingers how many times I felt real happiness last year, soul happiness.
I don't know what's wrong, how to change anything. I'm holding out hope that I'm going somewhere, and I do know that I've learned a lot as the months went by, and I've changed, in some ways, for the better. I hope that soon my soul will be breathing regularly again. But I don't know when that will happen.
I want to make music again. I want to spend my days with people I love, people I can be open and honest with, people I can invest in and care for and laugh with and speak deeply (and simply) with. I want to follow my faith and take risks and give of myself for other people.
I have hopes that this year will lead me to the places I need. They're small, but they're all I have right now.
Here's to 2016.
