It’s 3 weeks into 2018. I’m 22 days out of the dumpster fire that was 2017. The government has shut down, the world seems to be teetering on the brink of war and it seems more and more like the only way to survive with CRPS will be to go on disability. 

Yet, I’m feeling a strange bit of optimism. I started dancing again after several months of wallowing in pain. I changed my hair color back to the red that makes me happy (I tried to add some pink, but it’s so subtle that it’s nearly imaginary…). I’ve decided it is time to start dressing like a grown up after my year without pants. I want to not be terrified by my bank account this year. I want to learn how to keep my apartment tidy so I don’t freak out every time someone wants to come over and hang out. And I think this is the year that I can make that happen.

I mean, last year, I launched a shop. I wrote lots of health related articles for my friends’ vitamin company.  I went to adult ballet camp. I found new friends who understand me. I did a lot. But it was still kind of a dumpster fire.

I tragically lost a dear friend the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I let a friend go when I couldn’t bear her hypocrisy. I was denied a DRG stimulator trial and ketamine infusions. I spent a good deal of time working myself sick and not dancing. I tried to get in to a clinical trial (but cracking my tooth disqualified me).I had my first serious allergic reaction in years. I spent most of the year with a pit in my stomach about the state of politics and sheer terror at the thought of losing what little healthcare is currently covered.

Something about January 1 always brings a bit of something. It’s a bright spot in a dreary season. A chance to course-correct and find a new path forward. So, I’m doing that.

I’m dancing again. I’m writing (for myself) again. I started making videos.

I’m coming out of hibernation.

But I’m not a new person. I haven’t shed the old me. I’m still here. The same old weirdo (hopefully the lovable kind). There isn’t some magic happens when the clock strikes midnight. I haven’t turned into some sort of gym rat. I didn’t start a Whole 30 or new diet. (I’m taking advice from my friend Jenna on this). I’m just doing what feels right. Like going back to ballet, obsessing over new Star Trek episodes, and getting lost in books. I’m still falling down beauty video rabbit holes on YouTube and spending too much money on a mostly black wardrobe (my experiments with bright colors always fail…unless it’s leggings).

So it’s a new year. And I have a renewed sense of hope. But I’m still me.