December is upon us.

December is upon us. It is here, despite how hard we may have wished it not to be. An entire year has passed, again, and we are left standing with our hands at our sides, wondering what happened to the time. It’s been quite a journey, this year. A year ago, my life was filled with so much angst and anxiety, it was hard to know which direction to turn and what would happen next. So much uncertainty lay ahead – it was new ground to be covered – and not a small amount of worry. Worry about employment status, worry about finances, worry about collateral damage, worry about whether or not the ship would stay afloat. But here we are, a year later, and not only has the ship remained afloat, it has been a year of learning a new way of being.

December is upon us, now. Most mornings, it is too cold to sit on the porch with my coffee, waking up with the birds. Before long, it will be too cold to venture out before noon for that obligatory daily walk. I have a new rule: if it is below 20 degrees Fahrenheit at 7 am, I hold my daily walk until noon, when it is likely to be nearer to 30 degrees. There is no rush to get in the walk before the workday begins – the commute to the desk in my bedroom isn’t so taxing as to warrant the desperate hurry to exercise first thing. It is preferable, but sometimes, waiting cannot be avoided.

There is a lot of new this year, including living with and explaining the choices I’ve made. I’ve learned that I have to practice talking out loud, to people, about my now year-old living situation. How to respond to questions about why the townsfolk have not seen the departed from the household lately. My first attempts at explanation were awkward at best, cringe-worthy at worst. It is getting easier with practice. Still awkward. But mostly, met with kindness, despite the preliminary weirdness. I’m pleased to report that most everything else is running smoothly. The children are living their lives, dealing with the aftermath of their parent’s decisions, as they always have done. And each is finding their way, as best they can. I have finally acknowledged, and accepted, that I have no idea what good parenting is or should look like, and I can only do the best I can. I’m extending my trust in their abilities and intelligence as we all navigate this new world. I hope that it is enough.

One of the bright and wonderful spots of this new adventure is the introduction of dogs to the family. This is only revelatory because we’d not ever been pet people, or at least not in this family iteration. (If you know anything about me, you know that as a child, there were no fewer than two dogs in our household and very often, as many as four.) Dogs are the best thing to happen to humans. While this is no earth-shattering revelation, my boys have realized their love for dogs, which happily, is reciprocated. It started as a simple dog-sitting stint, and has become a 3-day-per-week standing appointment with one of the sweetest dogs on the planet. This little adventure led to caring for a friend’s “hound” for a week while they were away. What a darling he is to me, though he’d rip the arms off of any random person he doesn’t know. I am now known affectionately as the Dog Whisperer of Cranbury. Ha. But our three-day-a-week sweetheart remains the queen of the house, loved by us all.

December is upon us, and soon, the calendar page will turn into a new year. I did not accomplish all the things I thought I would have this year. I was ambitious. I wanted to re-do my son’s room. I got as far as his bathroom, which is not exactly 100% done, either. That was a full 3-day weekend of work, with help! And the rest is yet to be completed. I can’t get myself motivated to do it. I thought I’d be able to clear out sections of the house that are beyond hope with clutter. I am rendered catatonic at the thought of it. There is an entire list of things that need to be done, both inside and outside of the house. All require time, and some require money. I find myself choosing to do other things, like read an entire series of novels, rather than tackle any of these chores. Remember my plumbing disaster from last December? Tried hard not to recreate that one again, though the kitchen sink backed up at least once and the sump pump failed at least once, too.

Despite the lack of physical change in my dwelling, it’s been a banner year for fun with friends and serious self-care. My fairy godmothers took me on a cruise and lavished me with both their attention and care. There’s more in store for the year to come. I spent precious time with close friends, and friends from afar. I’ve inhaled books in a way that I hadn’t in years – had to reactivate the library card after years of dormancy. What absolute joy to spend a rainy weekend morning in bed with a book and a cup of coffee! I still have to remind myself that I am allowed to rest, to read, to slow down. Every moment of every day does not need to be filled with activity, purpose and action.

I’ve also learned to accept that it isn’t all roses and sunshine, either, and it’s OK to be doubtful, frightened and sad. I hail from a family that keeps a “stiff upper lip” when confronted with unpleasant news or circumstances, and only share with one another when the danger has passed, or it is absolutely necessary. While I like to think I am in touch with my emotions, I have recognized my own penchant for toxic positivity and have taken pains this year to be as real as I can be. Not every traumatic experience can be willed away by faking it until you make it. There are days when I am just laid low by grief and melancholy. I try to honor it, and let it pass. I am, by nature, a very positive person, so being able to separate the real from the fake is sometimes hard, even for me.

Ah, here it is, friends, the last month of the year. We made it. We got through it, and although the world is a frightening and terrible place, full of people who are hateful and horrible – I refuse to watch the news because of this fact – there are still little beams of light. Bastions of hope. Reasons to continue. The sun rises every morning, and the moon is present every evening, even when we can’t see it. Clouds continue to roll across the sky and reflect upon the lake. The seasons change with regularity, despite our best efforts to thwart time. We cling to one another and give each other strength, love and hope, in the measure with which we need all three.

And so I end my letter to you, this strange, stream of conscious meandering of the mind. A recognition of a year fraught with change and concern. An acknowledgement of a year gone by and our attempt at making it meaningful. A rejoicing of the people who have made this last year bearable (I honor you, my friends and family.) Let’s enjoy this last month and set more reasonable expectations for next year. That last bit is a note to self, obviously.