A man walks into a bar.
“I’ll have the regular but spice it up.” — he says.
The purveyor replied, “find a new bar.”
(This isn’t a joke. It’s a feeling.)
I claimed ”release” as my annual theme for 2021.
I expected big things to remain the same. And I expected the little things to change a little.
I wanted more ideas out of my head, more stuff out of my garage, and more papers off my floor.
You know, “Marie Kondo that shit.”
But the little stuff stayed the same, and the big stuff came down like an avalanche.
My writing habit of 1 year fell.
My podcast of 3 years fell.
My health habits of 3 years fell.
My job of 8 years fell.
My friends of 8 years fell.
My marriage of 15 years didn’t fall. But it faltered.
The pillars of my identity had rotted. And I thought I’d be asking which 2018 doodles “spark joy.”
Recap: I got kneecapped then recapped my knees.
I can’t recap this year in a single post. But I believe “release” was a fitting theme — even if different than I planned.
I released more than I thought I would, and it felt better than I’d imagined it could. But I needed time to hold the feeling close while the artifacts fell away.
If 2021 was about letting go, 2022 is about walking away.