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I’m not a fan of New Years. But I love a new year.

It’s a fresh start.

And a fresh start feels hopeful. Like anything could be possible.

New Years is not a party to me. It’s a cleaning.

It’s my routine.

The decorations are down. The tree is hauled away.

Remnants of a year gone by seem to be hidden in every drawer and closet. Multitudes of papers have made their way into stacks labeled “not important enough to file but too important throw away”.

So I tackle them. Piece by piece. Drawer by drawer. Stack by stack.

It’s a time I regroup and think of how to tackle the year ahead before it tackles me.

It’s a time to reassess my priorities, making sure they remain at the top instead of being covered by things that matter less.

I see the new year as a gift. An opportunity.

Not to be dreaded or approached with fear. But with great anticipation.

I am aware that my highs, successes and joys will be accompanied by lows, failures and sorrows.

That’s okay. That’s life.

When I acknowledge these things, I am better prepared. Equipped. Ready.

I don’t do resolutions. But I plan.

I dream.

And above all…

I hope.

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