Tell me. Tell me again, dear, why this cannot be your year.
Speak to me of how good girls don’t claim the brass ring. I need a good chuckle.
Because yes, I will chuckle. Do you not know your good awaits? It awaits you. You feeling worthy of it. You having the skills to handle it. You with your beautiful insides carved by pain to hold more joy.
Why wouldn’t this be the year you leave the significant other who hasn’t treated you the way we all hoped he would treat you?
Why wouldn’t this be the year you publish that book to rave reviews?
Why wouldn’t this be the year you finally remember to bring your reusable grocery bags into the store each and every time?
(I have friends who accomplished the first two things last year. That last one? Forget it. It’s far too lofty even for the Type A’s.)
Claim it. Own it. Be it. Yes, this year.
Don’t think I cannot hear your sighs of protest. If leaving the lout and claiming your grocery bags is too difficult, let’s start with baby steps.
Such as? Why, I’m so glad you asked.
Tell me why, one more time, this year cannot be the year you add only those things to your life that are exceedingly beautiful, essential or bring you joy. Tell me why making a dent in the immense quantity of material objects you have accumulated—most of which don’t fit the aforementioned criteria—is impossible.
Explain to me, please, why you cannot take impromptu walks in a green space, stop by an art museum or gallery, make something of beauty.
Share with me—yet again—why this cannot be the year you put on the damn bathing suit and swim laps without worrying about who is looking at your ass and whether it is jiggling. And while we’re at not caring what people think, how about trying out the French you’ve been trying to learn, playing the Bach you’ve found soothes your soul or serving something a bit out of the ordinary at the dinner table? Convention be damned. Your unsophisticated friends will just have to grow a little. There are worse things.
I know you have your own version of what could be this year. It is hidden in a locked room in that beautiful soul of yours, wondering why it has wings if you never intended to allow it to fly.
You can’t experience what you don’t claim.
And anyone that tells you nice girls don’t claim things is a roadblock you will have to just drive right around. Detours take time. And we all have a limited quantity of that.
The brass ring awaits, my dear. And I think this is our year.