We spent New Years Day strolling along the harbor, dipping our toes in the cool winter sea, the sun resting ever-so-gently on our shoulders. As I walked past the boats, I was filled – more like flooded – with hope. No one feeling ever sticks around forever (and isn’t that, at times,  a blessing?). I have my fair share of grief that’s deserving of it’s own post; a loss of what I envisioned my family to be, my partner to be. And yet in that moment, on the first day of a new year, walking along those boats, I had the feeling that anything is possible. That my life can still match my vision. That maybe my vision was never dependent on another; only on myself. I got lost for a moment in a fantasy of owning a boat and hanging with my boys out on the water. What followed was the realization that I could. A realization that I don’t need to share my dreams with anyone nor do I need to rely on anyone other than myself to make my dreams come to life. Perhaps some may read that as painful, I read it as liberating.

I used to hold onto hope in a self-defeating way; hoping for another to change… focusing only on the potential while denying my reality. That kind of hope kept me stuck in an empty waiting room where no one was ever going to call on me, except – well – me. It’s a relief to know that hope can still exist and that it can have nothing to do with anyone other than myself. I am the one I’ve been waiting for. It’s an interesting dichotomy how I can be so far away from what I had envisioned my life to be but also closer to what I always wanted it to be.  I thought that could only exist in the company of another. Turns out I’m happy doing life and raising my boys on my own.

Here’s to 2021 being filled with hope, in myself.