Reflections on the Year 2022
In my post last year, I said that I wasn’t typically one to reflect on the ending of years, but that 2021 was so memorable that I felt compelled to write it all down. Now, I’ve fully bought in to the closure and reflection that the end of one year brings, and the excitement and possibility that the start of a new one ushers in.
Similar to the start of 2021, at the beginning of 2022 I lived in a different apartment, in a different town, in a different part of the state. The place where I felt and still feel most at home. It was a cozy month, full of walks in our neighborhood, greeting the cows that lived next door every afternoon, and making homemade pizza together in our cabin-like apartment baked in warm, ambient light. It feels so long ago now, but it’s the first month we seriously began considering our big move. February brought more of the same. Long hours spent bundled, walking through quiet forests, only hearing the crunch of snow under our feet. We hunkered through the winter and awaited the coming warmth with a familiar excitement.
In March, the snow began to melt and the grass emerged from the blanket pale green in color, but having survived nonetheless. We leaned against our porch railing as the sun set, watching our dog run freely through the farmland. I tried on my wedding ring for the first time, and our invitations arrived. I spent a night seeing my favorite band play two albums that mean the world to me. I spent afternoons on the phone with people I loved and dearly missed, trying to understand who I was and who I came from.
April gave me clarity on my health, clarity I was so desperately in search for despite my resistance to the tests that brought it. I found the dress I’d be wearing on my wedding day (although I didn’t know it yet). I celebrated the 60th birthday of one of the strongest and most important people in my life. I thought about how much I’d love to see 60. We spent Saturday evenings having dinner with friends and I started, for the first time in so long, quite possibly ever, to feel like myself.
May brought an enormous amount of change. We put into action our plan of packing up our life in western Massachusetts and moving closer east to be with our family. In the past year, I had begun to lean so much on my family, the people who know me inside and out, and it was killing me being away from them. Weekends were spent with long drives across the state that were worth every moment spent in the car but were becoming increasingly exhausting. Adam found an opportunity that would allow us to make the move, and that was that. We embarked on a new journey in an area of the state neither of us were very familiar with. My father moved out of my childhood home and I never had the chance to see it for the last time. I’m not even sure I would’ve wanted to if I did.
June was warm, and we took our time settling into our new apartment. We spent a Saturday afternoon in Rhode Island being showered with love from friends and family on our engagement. I celebrated the graduation of one of my closest friends. I relished in the fact that nearly everyone I cared about was a quick, 50-minute drive away. I felt energy and positivity seeping back into my skin like it was baking into me directly from the sun.
July is the month of birthdays, first Adam’s, then mine, then our dog, then our cat. Our wedding really began to feel real, and close, and it was simultaneously terrifying and exciting. I started a new medication. I felt like I could breathe again. With each passing day I came into myself a little more. August was filled with family and friends. Picking back up on important relationships that I had inadvertently let fizzle out, intentionally creating time to spend with the people I love, and rediscovering my craving for and love of good conversation.
September of 2022 was the most beautiful month I’ve ever experienced. Despite all of the stress that led up to it, I married my best friend on top of a mountain in Acadia National Park on an overcast, slightly chilly Wednesday afternoon. My closest friends were standing next to me, and other than our group, the mountaintop was empty. I had my mother’s diamond on my finger and the flowers that sat upon her head on her wedding day woven into my hair. I held a bouquet made by the woman who is my second mother. I felt so whole, so complete, in that moment. Not only proud of the partnership that Adam and I had created and promised to continue nurturing, but of myself, and the journey that brought me to the top of this mountain, and the incredible women in my life who made me who I am. We planned our honeymoon just the way we wanted it — hours spent driving through rural areas and crowded cities, staying in small towns with no plans, and seeing Montreal for the first time. I could have never predicted how perfect it all came together.
October should have been a month of post-marital bliss, but instead, it was spent hurriedly preparing all of the last minute items and tasks needed for our wedding reception. Despite my distaste for parties where I am the center of attention, we celebrated our union with friends and family, and were able to stand in a room full of people who love us. What’s better than that?
November is when peace finally came, the festivities were over, and we happily fell back into our normal life. Important decisions about our future were made, the first steps of them put into action. I finally replaced the familiar and unwanted feeling of dread about the future with excitement and hope.
December, this month, is such a treasure. It’s when I can look back at this past year and everything it’s given me. When I feel immensely grateful for the people I love, and the love they give to me. When I savor every moment spent with family and friends, whether at a loud, busy party, or quietly drinking tea on the couch.
This year has continued to bring me closer to the people I love and given me the opportunity to create new, lasting relationships. It has tested me and at times, made me want to give up. It gave me the opportunity to come into myself, to decide who I wanted to be rather than falling into it. It has been filled with so much change and just the right amount of stability to keep me sane. I’m proud of who I grew into this year.
I’m looking forward to 2023. The instability of my life hasn’t changed — I still have no idea where I’ll be living or what I’ll be doing, but I’ve realized that I wouldn’t want it any other way.