Typically, although I do try to avoid the whole thing, generally with some sort of internalised kicking and screaming, I am finding myself reviewing the year that was.
There is more resistance to looking to the year to come, although I have already purchased my usual variety of organisationy and planny type tools. Because I’m a bit anal like that, and I experience heart palpitations and mild panic at the thought of being less than a month out from the new year and not being in possession of some sort of calendar or diary or something.
I can breathe now, I have that sorted.
Anyhoo, it’s not just me doing all this reflectory type activity (nor making up words).
I keep hearing – and more so at this time of year – about how some of the most amazing and wonderful women I know have passed another year without having achieved those things they want to. How they have put their dreams on hold, again, or simply been so focussed on being Mum they let themselves slide … and all sorts of other things.
What makes me sad is how sad they sound when they say these things. Some of you may flip your hand and say “such is life” or something along those lines and pretend it doesn’t matter at all. Others of you may find yourself in the foetal position, sobbing and wondering where