For my 39th birthday, I got a pimple. What a bad joke. This is maybe the first blemish I’ve had since my 35th birthday (thanks ma, for the blessing of good skin). It seems fitting that this crazy year ends with such a blatant display of disrespect from my body. But I’ll just keep counting my blessings instead.

I am getting older and wiser, and I’m okay with it. This pandemic blew in a lot pain, but it also helped me slow down a little.Time is such a precious gift and it took a year filled with disasters, surprises and disappointments for me to really see that.

My perspective has shifted in such a monumental way that I am just overwhelmed with love and gratitude for what I have in my life. Let me clarify, my anxiety is high, but so is my gratitude. I am not well equipped to handle all of this uncertainty and isolation. But every day, I try my best to just be present. I see every year, and some days, every new day, as a chance for a fresh start. A new chance to give it your all, to feel good, listen to your body and best of all, to enjoy what my children have to teach me. They are truly amazing little creatures that push me so far to each extreme of frustration and joy. I keep thinking every year with them will be easier, but it just challenges me in different ways. This week I had to try and explain why baby Jesus is the reason for Christmas and not Santa Claus. That was a delicate and perplexing conversation.

The plan (because I must always have a plan) is to just embrace those fresh starts every day for the last year of my 30’s. And know that if we are all forever changed by the proceedings of this past year, then we might all just be unwittingly better off anyway.