Warning: self-absorbed, vaguebooky, angsty post ahead. Proceed at your own risk.
So, today is New Year's Day. And my news feeds are filled with celebrations and people wishing for happiness and prosperity for the year ahead.
On top of that, some of my feeds have people posting "year-in-review" memes or photo albums or the like, talking about how much they gained or learned or experienced in 2017.
And all I can think about is that it was a year ago this weekend, right at the beginning of 2017, when everything started falling apart for me. I feel like I spent the entire year sticking fingers into the dyke, trying to keep the dam from bursting. And, ultimately, at the end of 2017, the dyke burst anyways.
Maybe 2018 will be better than 2017. Part of me wants to say "it couldn't get worse, right?", but (a) yes, there were good things in 2017 that I should focus on, (b) I've never found any comfort in comparing "bad" to "worse", and (c) if 2017 has taught me anything, it's that it can always get worse.
But, independent of all that, tomorrow I have to get up and get back to work. Just like I tell my students after I hand back an assignment with a bad grade on it. Because, ultimately ... that's what I'm called to do. I can only sit and sulk in my cave for so long.
I need to find a way to choose to hope.