Forty-six. Another year of experiences. And memories. And obstacles and celebrations and frustrations and revelations. And lessons.  Lots of lessons.

I learned I matter. I learned not only should I be selfish sometimes, but it’s actually the best thing I can do for those around me. Selfish came in the form of continuing to travel by myself, happy hours with coworkers, long walks, really good shampoo, reruns of Shameless, and time to write. Selfish brought laughter and a little calm and a better night’s sleep. Selfish took the edge off, calmed the crazy, and brought perspective. All good for me. All just as good for those who live with me. I matter.

I learned to judge less. I continued to walk on the path I never planned to be on. It was hard. Some people have been so good to me. Some haven’t. Some have my back. Some talk behind my back. Some support my journey and some will never understand the choices I have made. And you know what. That’s okay. It doesn’t make me good or bad or them right or wrong. It just means we all have our “stuff” and we all are just doing the best we can. I don’t walk in their shoes. They don’t walk in mine. Judge less.

I’ve learned donuts are essential. In the midst of a global pandemic, the first risk I took was for Krispy Kreme donuts. And yes I bought two dozen. And yes I ate them for dinner. And yes, it made me feel better. Donuts are essential.

I’ve learned beer is also. No explanation needed really. Beer is good and I like it. Okay so are margaritas.  Beer and margaritas are absolutely essential.

I learned my armpits will forever feel fat. I developed a theory last year that my body is like the super continent of Pangea. Everything began high and tight and squeezed in where it was supposed to. As the years passed, the parts (and by parts I mean fat) slowly started to migrate around my body. I now have the continent of North America lying in my left armpit, Africa in my right, and Asia comfortably settled right across the mid section of my back. I was going to prove this year that with enough work I could tone this stubborn area, and you know what? I didn’t. Partly because I probably can’t and mostly because I just didn’t. I was tired and I don’t really like arm exercises and in reality I’ve learned cellulite dimples, sagging knees, parentheses wrinkles, and weird deposits of fat on my body are okay. Definitely still worth bitchin’ and complaining about, but okay. I’m okay fat armpits and all.

I learned good shoes can change my life. Being sidelined from running and even walking some days by plantar faucitis was my constant battle this year. I perfected the old lady hobble by the end of the day. I splurged (that being selfish thing) and bought myself really good shoes. Several pairs. Life changed by good shoes.

I learned toilet paper matters. I mean, haven’t we all learned this lesson. From flying a duffel bag full of toilet paper home to the winning feeling of “scoring” even a four-pack to the hoarding of the “good stuff” from the male population in my home. Because I also learned the quality of the toilet paper matters too. A lot.

I learned there will never be a year when I don’t cry on my bathroom floor. My hiding place. When it’s all too much and I’m brought to my knees. No matter how strong or how confident I am, sometimes it’s not enough. Life is hard. Unfair sometimes. Cruel sometimes. Sometimes I’m not strong enough. I have to be okay with not always being okay.

I’ve learned I feel completely comfortable looking homeless. People say just wash your hair, put on some makeup, and put on a really cute outfit. Makes you feel better every time. I say wrong. I would argue I am pretty damn happy in elastic waist pants, unwashed hair, no makeup, fuzzy socks with sandals and a baseball hat. If you need proof, I have now successfully been rocking my homeless vibe for six weeks. Pretty sure homeless is my new spring style.

I’ve learned I just want to be done with a lot of things. I’m tired of being angry or frustrated or upset. I’m tired of bitching about things. Be part of the solution or shut my mouth. If it’s not helping, then it’s not necessary. If I don’t like where I’m at, then change it. If I don’t like who I’m with, then change it. I’m over frustration and drama and chaos. I’m done.

I’ve learned the right decisions can often be the hardest ones to make. Sometimes your head has everything figured out but your gut just doesn’t agree. I’m pretty confident doors were shut this year, but I’m also more confident I will climb out a damn window if the next one doesn’t open soon enough.

I’ve learned I like digging in the dirt. I like planting flowers and I like digging up worms. Maybe it’s nostalgia from my worm farming days or my childhood when I used to buy those little candy coffins with the candy bones in them and then give worms I found dried on the sidewalk a proper burial, but I appreciate those little fellows and I appreciate everything has it’s place in this world. I’m excited for blooms and vegetables and just a little more green around me. Dirt under my fingernails, my bare feet in the grass, and a pretty plant may be just the therapy I need.

I’ve learned I have to make fun a priority. I have to get out of my damn adult head filled with “have to” and “need to” and do all the “want to” things. I need belly laughs and dancing and super long hikes. I need fire pits and hip hop music and sandy beaches. I need dancing in the rain and karaoke bars and silly jokes. I need fun.

I’ve learned I need to make more phone calls and be a better listener and take a lot more deep breaths. I’ve learned I need to listen to more Garth Brooks and I make really good Sangria and I can justify that Sangria is healthy if I add enough fruit. I’ve learned I really like my kids. I’ve learned I will probably never really like Monopoly. I’ve learned you never realize how much you want to live until your own health is in danger. I’ve learned hugs and smiles and human contact cannot be replaced by anything else.  I’ve learned parts of my heart may always be damaged and parts of my psyche can get pretty dark. I’ve learned it’s not just the hormones making me crazy. I’m crazy all on my own.

Most importantly I learned I am broken. Cracked. Warped. Fragmented. A giant functioning hot mess. Nothing like what I expected or planned. Nothing like what I thought I was supposed to be. And I’m done trying to fix that. I don’t care anymore. That’s what I learned. Broken doesn’t always need fixed. The cracks let the light in. The warped spaces give way for new ideas and new ways of thinking. The fragments were baggage and weight that were holding me in place and I learned I don’t want to stand still. I want a little messy and a little wild. I like unpredictable. To hell with supposed to be. I want to laugh at inappropriate jokes and dance to the beat of the music in my head. I want to be loud and passionate and strong-willed. I want big ideas and crazy risks. I want lofty goals and really big freaking dreams. I want to wake up with a kick some ass and get things done kind of vibe. I like this broken me better than I ever liked the whole. I’m broken and I am so okay with it.