What's your small step?

“Approach the new year with resolve to find the opportunities hidden in each new day.” ~

Michael Josephson

Conflicted.

That's how I best describe my feelings as I sit, facing the impending approach of 2024.

On one hand, I am kind of glad to see 2023 gone. It's been an incredibly difficult year to get through. On the other, I know that no ball drop, no new sunrise, no change of the calendar is going to make 2024 "better," persay.

Sure, each new year or new day brings new hope. It brings a chance for a new start. I'm all for that.

But a new year also means it's been that much longer since I said goodbye. It means I'm that much closer to the anniversary. To all the anniversaries. 

So far, I've survived our "park date," my birthday, our wedding date, and all these holidays. Christmas was bittersweet, as I loved seeing family, but there's a hole. 

There's always a hole.

I've learned a lot so far from being a widow. 

I've learned that I'm probably not as patient of a person as I thought. I find myself feeling irrationally angry at times. Not at Jim, I don't blame him for his death. I don't blame God. I don't blame anyone. I know no one is to blame and I believe nothing would have changed the outcome of that night. No one did anything wrong.

That said, my patience has been tested and found severely lacking since. I feel like an awful human putting this to words, but maybe it will help us all. I hope so, as I don't want to hurt anyone. 

Here goes: False platitudes and empty words don't help the grieving. Staring at us with deep sympathy just makes us feel like some sort of weird alien lifeform that has landed on this planet.

I know that my life will NEVER be normal again. But sometimes I wish people would make it a little less obvious that I'm so clearly an anomaly they're not sure how to cope with. 

Yes, I am a widow. I am forever changed. But I'm still me. I'm still the same goofy person. The person who loves to create. The person who tends to have her head-in-the-clouds. 

I'm still me. I may be a little less goofy. My smile may not be quite as bright. My feet may be more on the ground. My days may often include tears. But I'm still me underneath it all.

That has been one of the hardest things to adjust to. People simply don't know how to act toward me.

Some do. Some have been great, treating with a certain level of normalcy while also being respectful about Jim. Some just ignore me entirely. I can deal with that. Some treat me like glass. Like I'll shatter if they look the wrong way. 

I've never been a very delicate thing. When we first met, Jim used to tell me I was so tiny he could fit me in his pocket. I would laugh at the absurdity. I've never been delicate or tiny. Always more like the bull in the china shop than the dishware: clumsy and ungraceful. 

He soon learned how clumsy and ungraceful. Then he'd threaten to wrap me in bubble wrap, because I'd always have a new bruise or take a new tumble and twist an ankle. 

Even when he would try to protect me, he never made me feel like I was fragile. Maybe he tried once, I don't recall. I wouldn't have taken it well if he had. Ha.

So for me, that's been one of the hard parts. So many people treat me as fragile. As strange. As if they never expect to see me out of my hole. As if I constantly need reassuring that things will be OK. That's a laughable thought.

Things aren't OK. Things just are. They're neither good or bad, they just are. We make them good or bad. We decide how to handle these things that happen.

It isn't good that I lost my husband. Not for me. But I do think he's celebrating with God. That's good. He's with my nephew Asher, my grandparents, my cousin. He's with family of his own who have gone on. I can't help but think that's good. I can't help but think I'm a little jealous he gets to hold that baby first.

Would I wish him back? Initially, selfishly, yes. But I know that is an unrealistic sentiment. So I'm not holding on to such thoughts. They do me no good.

I'm not wishing my own life away either. I do know that every day I'm here is another day closer to there. But I'm not going to wallow in that. What good does that do? I could wish to switch places, but then he's the one grieving. 

Is that really fair to wish upon him? No. Not when we both believe in life after, in eternity, in Heaven. Maybe it's silly sentiment, but I like to think he's there. That's a thought I hold on to.

I think that's something else that has confused people. I think I'm more OK than people expect. It's taken people off-guard. 

To be honest, I try not to be an outwardly emotional person.

[I have a former boss who would disagree, but that's because I can't handle confrontation well. You confront me, I'll be like Rachel and bawl. It's just who I am as a person. Bonus points if you get the reference!]

I don't show a lot of that emotion. What good does it do to sit and cry? What does it benefit my husband? 

None. That's not the life he'd want me to live. He'd give me a hug, ask what I needed, and then encourage me to do something.

So that's what I'm doing. I'm still figuring out the somethings. But I'm doing something. I'm living. He can't anymore, so I'm living for him.

I got my first tattoo. I'm not entirely ready to share the whole backstory yet, but I want to give a shoutout to my artist, Skyler. She brought the vision to life.

I'm going to figure out how to take some trips in his memory. Hopefully "take" him to Ireland, like he always wanted.

I'm redoing our backroom so it can be a useable space. [Thank you dad and Doug!] 

Through all of this, I'm trying to keep his memory alive by living a life he'd be proud of.

That brings me back to the idea of a new year. It's bittersweet, like so many things in life these days. It's a year he will never experience. But I can experience it in his memory. 

I read this concept about opening the doors to let the new year in. It's kind of a nice idea. Open the door on the new year. Welcome it in. Sweep the old out.

Don't get me wrong, I could never not think of him. But to remember the good, to celebrate what we had, to carry him with me always -- this is how I hope to approach the new year.

It's interesting how we all think about each new year. Sometimes we make these big new plans. Sometimes we succeed. Most of the time, however, we stop about mid-January.

That's where most folks go wrong, I think. We don't focus on the small steps. Instead, we make massive and difficult goals.

So here's your challenge: What is a small step you can take to change your new year? Let's not say "go to the gym everyday." I mean you can if you want, but that's a little boring. [Also, it's a little close to home, cause this girl probably needs to be with you! Don't be stepping on my toes that way!]

So what's the small thing? Is it read a verse a day? Learn something new everyday? Make one new friend a month? Read one book a month? 

If you can't think of small things, only big things, that's OK. But break it in to the small things. You want a new career? Find the small steps to get there. 

In the name of transparency, I'm going to share my goal for the year: to finish my book. Yes, I've been writing a book for about ... five years now. I know, that's ridiculous considering it's not some great massive novel. It's more of a cozy mystery.

My husband always loved my writing. He had read some of it and always encouraged me to finish. Always said I'd be a best-selling author someday. 

We all know Jim was full of it in many ways -- the man could sell anything. So I don't have any expectations about that.

And that's OK. My goal is simply to finish it. After that, we'll see what happens. I think if I can get a chapter a month, I might be there. [That sounds reasonable, right Heather?]

So my small step is write a chapter a month. There it is. 

“The new year stands before us, like a chapter in a book, waiting to be written.” 

~Melody Beattie  

What's your small step? Whatever you do, live. Find a way to make your life the one you want. Take that step. Shoot that shot, as they say. 

Because life is meant to be lived. Not everyone gets a chance to achieve those plans.

You're here. You're breathing. You have a chance.

Take it.

If you need someone to root for you, give me a shout! I'll be your cheering section and your hype girl. We'll call some folks and make it a thing. 

Mostly, just live. 

And please, live in a responsible way! I don't want to make the "thing" a sad thing. 

Happy New Year!