This the final day of a multitude of others, the last candle to be blown out on the cake that was the year we lived. These the hours last and resetting, those that come with the tintinnabulation of each hour’s bells, growing from 6 to 12 then again until the final dozen ring out in the hollow of a new morning, the first of a new year. We’re nearly there, we survivors of such strife, we revelers who hold our hands up until we count down from 10, until we kiss someone we love, or at least one we find, and leave our lips glued tight until half a minute into the virgin hours still fresh and unspoiled. There’s still time, love, there’s still time indeed.
I won’t take yours today, it’s not mine to claim and you’ve your own decisions to make, your own lists to craft, as there are choices still to take, these minutes, in the river of the day, your life raft. But I will make mine, and though many of the items that will find their way upon it, this list of such importance, will stay secret and mine alone, you’ll know some after all.
There is much I do not need to do anymore, as this year collides with the one that is coming, the tink of the glasses that sloshes over bits of drink, one into the next. So much I do not need to do. I don’t always need to be right, no, it’s ok to be wrong, and be wrong often. We learn with what we’re mistaken by, what fools us with the bait of confidence, and we hold those lessons higher than the rest. They stick, and we do not make them again. Or maybe we do, but it hurts worse then, sticks even tighter next time around. I do not need to worry about the decisions of those I love, as support can come without the investment of my fear or preoccupation. They can do as they need to do, and should it not work out, I can be there to help then, when and only when they ask for the assistance. I can give more, so much always so much more than I have already given, it’s why I am here, and I know this now. I was made to give away what I have, and the worth of what I give is not for me to decide. These words, this hope, this kindness, this love, all this love that is an ocean beneath the skin I wear, that brings tides to the moods, brings salt to the eyes I look from, it’s for the giving, and I will not horde it like dragon gold beneath dragon fire. Here, the key to the door that holds it, open it, come, take what you wish for, worry not of excess, for I know the way to spin straw into more gold, I will not run out.
Many more, and I know this. There is always work to be done, and this list will grow. Some you will know, some you will hear me speak of, some, you will not. For us all, maybe above all things, maybe the second entry on our lists, right after giving that love away, is one thing more than any other. It is this:
Stop Being Scared.
That’s it, that’s the theme of the year to come, a decimation of the fear we carry, the complete and total destruction of all the terror we hold for so many things. Each twinge of each body part will not be the end of us, each story on the news does not mean the world is ending, and even if it is, we can face that too. Fear is the anchor buried in the sea bed of our lives, it holds us and makes us forget that we are ships built for sailing, we do not need a harbor to rot in, we never have.
Make your list, number it, bullet points, I care not, but make it. Find all you don’t need to carry into these new months ahead, find all you can stop trying to be. Study this list, then bring it to flame, and let it turn back into ash that floats away into the winter air.
You’ve hours left before the bells, spend them with pen and paper, then spend them with match and fire, then let it go, and begin again.
I will meet you on the other side of ash and glow.
A list of many,
all I do not have to do,
I don’t need to be.