It happens every year. I don't even know when it began, but I have an internal tradition each New Year's Eve that I can't shake or outgrow. Maybe I just don't want to, no matter how silly it seems later on.
Every year as I stare at that ball in Times Square (which has gotten uglier over time), I feel this inner...tingle. That countdown from 10 to 1, turns the tingle of anticipation into a spark filled with the childhood excitement of Christmas, Birthdays, End of School and Beginning of Summer, all rolled into one. This year I finally figured it out.
That spark within is my moment of hope.
A hope that THIS year will be different in ways which count. To be kinder. To smile more and worry less. To continue the southern girl tradition of putting others first, without guilt from taking time for myself, occasionally. To still believe that it's not too late for the world to get it's act together before Mother Nature puts us in a Time Out of never ending misery, be that cold, wet or burning.
Tomorrow, I go back to work. I've been off for two weeks and when you're the only person where you work, the first day can be overwhelming. All my senior folks will be shouting that THEY need my undivided attention FIRST. It's like herding cats while holding catnip.
So rather than dread it, I found this. And in 2018, I'm gonna embrace it not as a helpful suggestion, but as nurturing hope.