December was a little crazy. The second half anyway. All three of my kids were sick with a really bad virus. Then my husband got it. Now I’m laid up in bed. (It’s the most time I’ve had to myself in, like, three weeks, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m miserable. But, boy, does it feel nice to be left alone—no offense, family…)
December has been a month of reflection for me, as it usually is. I hate the holidays, but, holy smokes, do I love the New Year. I love the idea of a fresh start, of evaluating the year that’s gone, seeing what worked and what didn’t, noting progress, and making goals for the year ahead.
One of the things that has surprised me most is that, even though I met a lot of the book review goals I set for myself last year, it didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. I mean, I’m glad that I met my Goodreads goal of reading 100 books. I’m glad I increased my presence on Instagram. I’m glad I posted regularly on this blog (though I wish I had published more non-book-review posts). But spending all this time reading and writing has felt a little isolating to me. It’s made me realize that I actually prefer more social interaction. I love books, and I always will, but I also need people.
So in 2018, I’m going to decrease my Goodreads goal to 65. I’m going to go back to treating reading like a hobby and not a job. I’m also going to work on reaching out to people. No pressure, no expectations. I’m going to smile more. I can tell so many people are down in the dumps—and I get it. Shit is depressing right now. But there’s also a lot of good in the world. There is hope. I think focusing on showing each other little kindnesses each day is the way to get us through. Or at least that’s how I’m going to get through.
Well, that and I’ll probably spend a lot of time with my hands in the dirt. There will be many plants planted this year…