My brother-in-law texted today to tell me happy birthday. I texted back and ended with “Here’s to hoping that year 44 is a little better than 43…I could do with less pandemic!”

Over the last 18-ish months I have had several conversations with friends about not just categorically writing off 2020. Sure, 2020 wasn’t a banner year with a pandemic and social unrest and a terrible political season. But 2020 wasn’t the worst either.

I feel that way about my 43rd year, it wasn’t the best and it wasn’t the worst. I’m still alive, and having survived COVID bad enough to be hospitalized, I think that is saying something!

I often make plans and lists for my coming year. By October those plans and lists lay forgotten for the most part. It feels a bit like the New Year when Carole and I make plans and goals for the calendar year. Some years we don’t and in those years I find myself looking back even wondering what I accomplished during the year. The years we do write down plans and goals, I might not finish them all, but when I look back I remember more of what I did, what I didn’t do, and what I did instead. I have come to realize these written down lists are important for me in many ways.

I am still working out what I want 44 to be.

In the meantime, I am going to have a piece of gluten-free cake and celebrate the end to 43.

Today, at noon, on August 5, 2020 it was 74 degrees at my house.

74.

The breeze was cool and it felt like it should be late September.

The light is shifting.

The hummingbirds are back.

It isn’t light until 9pm anymore.

It won’t be “fall” for a long time still.

And yet…the tiny changes are adding up slowly.

I think tomorrow it is supposed to be 97 degrees so the delightful air didn’t last.

But that’s okay. We drove to work with the windows down and soaked up every glorious second.

Anger, white and hot, burned through me. I fought to keep back the tears that were burning my eyes and succeeded. Hours later the anger is there, simmering and bubbling up at those that didn’t even cause it.

I have different types of anger. The kind like today that burns and makes me want to cry. The kind that makes me go silent with rage. The kind that bursts out of me with a loud voice and angry swears. The passive aggressive kind. The in your face kind. The kind that makes me regret for days, months, years.

A week ago my anger caused instant anxiety and an instant headache in the exact middle of my forehead. It later morphed into a migraine. I was caught off guard and questioned about a completely acceptable business practice of sourcing more than one quote. The person on the phone shared information that was never authorized and completely unknown to us and then I was made to feel like I was doing something wrong.

It still sears when I think about it.

Today’s anger was maybe more frustration at people talking around things and being obstinate just because. And then it morphed to more than frustration because now I was being forced to do something that made me super uncomfortable. I didn’t want to do it. Anger and anxiety don’t mix well. I think I was being forced to make a point. It’s time to step up and do what is expected of a business owner even if I don’t like it. It’s my job.

I sent the emails. I handled it. It was never a doubt that I could do it. I just didn’t want to and as I type it out and process it here on this screen, my anger wasn’t just with others.

I see that now.

It doesn’t make the anger less. It still burns. It’s the kind of anger that needs an early bedtime and a solid night of sleep to soothe it away.

My first post about 43 was all about the pandemic.

That doesn’t feel like what I want to write for this 1st day of year 43.

Life feels overwhelming most days. Normal isn’t normal.

I’m not sure what I want for this year.

I feel a bit more clear about what I don’t want.

Maybe that is the same thing.

I want more slow.

I want less social media.

I want more time spent with hand work and crafts.

I want less time spent with a screen.

I want more time focused on my family.

I want less worry and stress.

I want more peace and calm.

I want more stretching and deep breaths.

I want less clutter.

I want to learn to drink tea and write in a journal daily.

I want to learn to make gluten-free pasta.

I want to pray and meditate.

I want to be a morning person again.

Maybe this is a starting point for year 43. It isn’t everything but it is something. It’s a place to start and for today, it feels like more than enough.