To a new year for us all.
To more hopeful beginnings. To more merciful endings.
I have so many resolutions and so many wishes for you all, but I know it’ll never be enough. It’d be nice if there was a simple button to push. Maybe it’s red, maybe it’s blue. But for the sake of purpose, it’s your favorite color and all it takes to push down on it is a single touch from your finger. Graceful and easy.
There’s no telling what’ll happen when the button is pushed. It might restart the world, it may end it (it’s the same thing, no?). Perhaps when your finger touches it, your favorite smell will blow into your face, or maybe your favorite food will appear before you on the plate you ate on in your childhood.
There’s no telling what’ll happen when the button is pushed. You might ghost your finger over it, hesitant to touch it, fearful of the unknown, but all it takes is the acknowledgment of its existence for it thrive. There’s nothing to be done after the button is pushed, but you hope for the best. That’s all you can do now.
The year turns over and it’s like flipping the page of a book you aren’t allowed to stop reading. It’s the best book you’ve ever read, the only book you’ve ever been able to read, but there are so many things wrong with it. You’ve cried, you’ve laughed, and you’ve wished you could stop reading with all your heart. The pages are worn thin and the cover is barely visible, but you read and re-read and you keep reading until it’s time to pass the book on to someone else.
That’s the thing, about this book of life. It’ll never not be read. You’ll never stop reading.
To the new year and all the buttons and books in the world. It’s an on-going circle, but it’s been done before. You won’t know what’s coming next and you’ll never be as prepared for it as you wished. It’s a dare: to push the button, to turn the page. But you’ve done it before and you’ll do it again because, in the end, you’re hoping for the best and sometimes it’s a rewarding thing to hope.
To a new year for us all.