This year marked the beginning of my 30th trip around the sun. If you’ve taken time to read my first post on here, you’re probably already familiar with the general tone of my life as of late. Sometimes it feels like life is just a whirlwind of healing and getting hurt and healing again.

I spent the first several months of this year relentlessly telling myself it was better than last year. To some extent, this was true. In January, I garnered some home improvement skills (painting, spackling, assembling furniture, etc). February was full of fluffy feelings and attempting to join a gym. I didn’t stay on that gym train, but the thought has followed me ever since, and, one day, I swear, I pinky-promise, I will I really will, join a gym. Or at least darken a gym doorway every now and then.

I don’t really remember March specifically, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There was a slight dip come April, because it was the first of what would be many sicknesses, but even that wasn’t enough to break me of my mantra: “This year is better than last year.”

Like March, I don’t remember May being much of a stand-out month. It was good, or better, or something net positive, so yay for that. June is when things really took a turn. I suspect some unfortunate anniversaries from last summer were partially to blame, but either way, it became a lot harder to say “This year is better than last year.”

And then, July. I lost a friend very suddenly and very tragically in early July. Grief did not come smoothly—it barely came at all, just enough to function. July was busy and led into a busy August (where I got sick twice) which led to a busy September (where people around me got sick) and, before I knew it, it was October. My grief partnered up with my unresolved stuff from June and threw me for a complete loop. Forget you, Halloween. I make my own horror. Apparently.

I found myself picking up the pieces in November. I also found myself sick—again. It all slowed me down. I had to breathe. I had to process. I had to relax. And as November transitioned into December, I’ve been coming to terms with a year that didn’t quite match with what I had hoped it would be. “This year is better than last year”—but I am no longer convinced that it has been.

I blame 2019 for my propensity to label years as either “good” or “bad.” It was the first year in what is feeling like a long string of years that tip pretty heavily into the “bad” territory. But, it’s not entirely fair to weigh things out that way. Most years, in all honesty, have a decent measure of both sprinkled throughout. In this case, the bad is almost like vinegar, while the good is like water. Even a small drop of vinegar can alter the taste and make you scrunch up your nose. It takes an awful lot of water to dilute it down to something palatable.

And maybe that isn’t even a fair comparison. I don’t know. I can’t really say. It’s just…been…a lot. And I want to tie this up with a neat little bow but, as I continue riding through space on this big, blue rock, I can’t help but learn that life isn’t tidy. There are no neat little bows. There is pain. There is hardship. There is challenge.

Now comes the part where I remember the mantra I wanted to bring with me this year. “There will be beauty.” It was supposed to be that. I tried to incorporate it in that first post from 12/31/22. I guess I let it go somewhere along the way. I guess I flopped on my mission to see the beauty. But, it’s still this year. There’s still some time.

There has been beauty. There were friends reaching out for the first time in a long time. Other friends were there to hear my heartache and pray alongside me. Jokes were shared. Laughs were had. I drove through a flood, which was weird, but it was also cathartic because it felt like an adventure in the best way. I went to a paper doll show and probably bought too many paper dolls, but it was fun and I met so many lovely people. I painted a picture of a house. I started making miniatures. I wrote more stories. I wrote some poems (and you can read a few of them on here!). I pushed through my reading slump a little more and read a few more books than last year.

So many things. So much good water. So much beauty among the vinegar. And, now that I’ve typed all of this out, I think that’s the point I wanted to make all along. Was this year better than last year? Eh… It’s hard to quantify, but I think the answer is no. But I’m a little better. I can see a little better. And recognizing that life is messy and full of sour vinegar but that that messiness and sourness doesn’t negate the beauty that exists is so freeing and redemptive.

God is good all the time. And all the time, God is good.