My Dear Year 2024,
I will not be sad, in the least, to see you go. We’ve had a wild ride, you and me, of the bucking bronco variety. You throw me off. I get back on. You toss me again, and I re-mount. Dirtier and more bruised, but still determined. We have just a few days left together, and I’m eager for you to move along. Pack your bags, please, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
You’re right. I gave your predecessors a much more proper sendoff. The Type A, organized lawyer in me wrote them glowing lists. Lists of all the courses we’d taught, and podcasts we’d recorded. The employers we’d worked with, and the parents we’d supported. And yes, I could do that for you, too. But I’m out of steam. And this year wasn’t really about wracking up merit badges anyway.
You’d like some recognition, at least? Okay, fine. Here it is. You’ve forced me to learn, and grow, and change, in all the ways. Most I didn’t ask for. But heck, we usually don’t ask for the crises that build true grit and resilience, do we? Really, if I’m honest, I’m grateful not to you, but to the systems I put in place back in 2023, that allowed Mindful Return to continue fulfilling our mission of serving working parents this year, even though I and my family were in crisis. Despite you, 2024, we are still going strong. I’m grateful to the Mindful Return Team and to all the communities that have rallied around us. To everyone who helped us pick ourselves up after each blow you’ve dealt. I’m also grateful to all the physical and mental health professionals who have cared for us over, and over, and over again.
2024, you might just be the kind of year I can only thank after the fact. The kind of year I’ll look back on in a decade, and say, “Yes, that was an important time of growth. Thank you for being the placeholder you were.” Maybe you’re the kind of year I can only appreciate after I’ve passed through the teen parenting phase, and my children have more fully developed prefrontal cortexes. I’m not sure. But the best I’ve got for you today is a thank you that I’m still here. Still putting one foot in front of the other. Still caring about how to make the world a better place for working parents and for all the people I love.
You’re right, though, 2024, there is one thing you gave me this year that provided the bright spot to survive all the rest: the Paris Olympics. Our Bucket List trip was one big and beautiful explosion of joy that gave me an important counterweight to all the heaviness you’ve thrown at us. Without that trip, I’m not sure I’d even have been able to muster up the decency to write you this letter. My hope is that as with challenging individuals in our lives who pass away, my memories of your problematic traits will fade, and I’ll be left, at least, with the glow of that Olympic torch.
I don’t know if you talk to the incoming year as you pass in the hallway on your way out. But if so, can you ask 2025 to go a bit easier on me, please? To give me and my family some respite from the turbulence you’ve offered? If 2025 looks grumpy on the way in, please offer them some chocolate. Or maybe marshmallows. Or a stuffed teddy bear. If 2025 and I can start off on the right foot, I would be most grateful.
With hope in my heart, and a continued spirit of fearlessness, I bid you adieu,
Lori
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