Well, friends, we’ve had another interesting year, have we not? Here we are, two years into this pandemic, a year past vaccinations began, and we’re still hearing complaints about mask usage and vaccine mandates. We’ve proven that vaccines work (if you’re vaccinated, you might get a breakthrough case, but it looks like you won’t be headed to the hospital), and we’ve proven that the coronavirus kills (5.4 million deaths worldwide, 814,000 deaths in the United States alone). We’ve struggled with isolation, fear of the unknown, the virus itself, and a whole host of mental health issues thanks to the virus. If there’s ever a year that I need to words to live by, it’s this next one.

Last year, I focused on Ashleigh Renard‘s version of Diddy’s words:

You should give a fuck. You really should. But only about things that set your soul on fire. Save your fucks for magical shit.

But I have to tell you, I sort of lost sight of those words about midway through the year. It was a busier than normal year for me, full of my debut book and familial obligations (namely my father, which I’ve written about), and right around mid-July, I had to remind myself that I had to save my fucks only for the magical shit. Once that reminder set in, my outlook changed, and the rest of my year, though stressful still, became much more joyous.

So what I’m looking to hold onto this year is that joy. The feeling that I can get by remembering to take care of myself, cultivate my own needs, and look after me as much as I look after everyone else. And to do that, I will be clinging to the words of the talented author, Dinty W. Moore:

It is only by being attentive to your own vitality and distinct energy, examining and understanding the underpinnings of your thoughts and actions—another sort of mindfulness—that you will be able to bring your perspective forward.

That’s the plan for the new year, folks. Let’s make it a happy, and healthy, 2022.

Image of racetrack by Tumisu at Pixabay.com.