I wanted to post an end-of-year something to my social media, and at first thought I'd take a photo of myself. But then I thought, a new photo of me to close out an old year, while poetic, wouldn't be an accurate farewell to this latest trip around the sun. So instead, I had a look through my existing gallery, and it hit me just how good 2023 has been to me. Personally. On a small, singular level. Globally, so much of 2023 has been disastrous.
Castelo dos Mouros, Sintra, Portugal
But for me, which is the only realm I'm in control of and responsible for, 2023 has been pretty damn great. So much so that for 2024, I'm looking to maintain it. That's a therapy thing -- you're either working towards fixing, or maintaining (once you've fixed, in as much as you can). I'm looking to maintain.
Therapy
Since I mentioned it.
My first photo of 2023. My bed. Fuengirola, Spain.
2023 has been a hell of a ride, spiritually and psychologically. I've shed so much of myself, so much unnecessary weight off my shoulders. So much prejudice about the world and about myself. I've grown more malleable in certain areas, which has allowed me more room to move, bizarrely.
I've found that the more rigid we hold ourselves, the harder movement becomes. And isn't life filled with challenge, already, without you crafting more for yourself?
So I've allowed myself to transform. To suffer variation around me, though not fools. I've invited into my closeness people I would've given a wide berth to previously, in my rigidity, and found myself much changed by their wisdom, their kindness, by the love in their eyes.
Boca do Inferno, Cascais, Portugal.
I've let things go. Or rather, no. Things. Memories. Hurt. Old lovers. They have a habit of rigidity, also, which often makes letting go so damn tricky. I find that if you only push them away, hoping they'll begin to waddle in the opposite direction, you'll both remain stuck in place.
It's you who has to go. Them, you just leave. On a branch. Between two vinyls. On a piece of moon. The hardest thing you'll have to do with the things that hurt is set them down and give your arms a rest. Often, you don't even realize how much carrying them hurt until you set them down somewhere and give your arms a shake.
I've set down a couple of things in 2023 that had been, for too long, draining me. And found myself lighter, going forward. More importantly, found my arms free to pick up new things.
Voyages
My 24th birthday. Seville, Spain.
Scouring through a slew of photos, I found immense gratitude for all the wonderful places I've been and the adventures I've had during 2023. I found images that were beautiful, yes, but became breathtaking in the joy they carried embedded in them. The beauty I'd seen, the happiness experienced just to be in that place.
I'm hoping 2024 brings with it not just the resources for new adventures, but also the opportunity. Few memories are as painful to me as the sequestration of the pandemic. And always, when I look to the future, I'm reminded to look a little back, and remember how fragile this all is.
Arthur's Seat. Edinburgh, Scotland.
Our freedom of movement. The seemingly banal ability to wander into the Uffizi at will, or sit on the steps in Trafalgar Square and marvel at the great diversity of our human earth. Simple things. I hope for such simple, modern miracles in the year to come.
Loch Lomond & Trossachs National Park, Scotland.
And for the looseness in me to take the opportunities that present themselves. To say yes to adventure, even if it does not manifest as I might've guessed it. There is strength in that, that's not a default.
A world my own known now to others
Me and Bookie 2. My living room. Bucharest, Romania.
It's impossible to assess 2023 without thinking of my books. I dreamt someone had given my book, Hearthender, a 3-star rating, which had brought down its score. And what irritated me most was that they'd only left a rating. Not a review, and so I couldn't even know what they hadn't liked about it.
There's something deeply frightening about crafting your own universe, setting down sacred laws like its very own deity, creating light and hope and horror, only to then open it up to an entire world.
Lisbon, Portugal.
I recently had a giveaway for the book on Goodreads, and now there's 8 people currently reading my book. It's terrifying. It's like standing bare naked, and knowing a gaggle of people is staring quite seriously at my behind.
2023 has been so strange and exciting, creativity-wise. I put out two books, Hearthender and the sequel, Dreamsurfer, and finished the first draft for the third (and final) book of the series.
My mom's balcony. Bookie 1. Bucharest, Romania.
I didn't know I could.
It's so exciting looking at a bit of art and thinking, I made this. I crafted it of my own fears and fantasies and desires and nightmares. And now, there's people looking into it and seeing themselves. How fucking cool is that?
In 2023, I've learned ways to heal myself through art, not just exploit wounds for creative satisfaction. I found the beauty of making art for art's sake, and of dancing just to feel the earth under my own two feet. Which is why I'm praying, wherever them two feet may take me in 2024, that they keep dancing. That my hands continue, likewise, their dance on the keyboard, for it is a dance. I wouldn't know to move them as they do, if I sat and consciously thought about it, but left to their own devices, they seem quite apt.
Syracuse, Italy.