Dear 2020 - All My Love And Nostalgia
Dear 2020,
This is me, 365 days of documentation ending in ’20' under my sleeve. You’ve been a friend, a teacher, a fleeting few minutes, a bigger picture — a year vividly made.
You've taught me to live in moments without feeling guilt from catching the memories and to let go of the moments that weren’t worth keeping.
You’ve shown me the fear of being stagnant (a healthy fear it’s been) and the paralleling thrill of progress.
You've proven to me that everything happens for a greater good and, from that, given me hope for the greater good that I’m still waiting for.
You've humbled and reminded me that there’s patience I need to build; that my love is still far from unconditional; and that I don’t know people as well as I think I do — no one knows anyone as well as they think they do.
So love and love and love because you just never know.
You've been an outlet to my off-and-on, up-and-down multidimensionality that confuses even me: always some kind of everything simultaneous.
I’ve learned that people should teach you lessons, but people should never be treated as lessons.
I’ve become a firm believer in celebrating little victories and the behind-the-scenes perseverance that it took to get there.
So often I’ve forgotten how deeply and richly God loves me, and I probably won’t ever be able to fathom it.
I’ve seen it in the skies you’ve flashed at me with a palette incomprehensible, and I’m happy my eyes were wide open.
Thanks for turning me into the most ‘me’ I’ve ever been and for being in talks with the clock to put me right where I needed to be exactly when.
To you and your seasons of understanding, growing, and uncovering truth.
All my love and nostalgia.
This is me, 365 days of documentation ending in ’20' under my sleeve. You’ve been a friend, a teacher, a fleeting few minutes, a bigger picture — a year vividly made.
You've taught me to live in moments without feeling guilt from catching the memories and to let go of the moments that weren’t worth keeping.
You’ve shown me the fear of being stagnant (a healthy fear it’s been) and the paralleling thrill of progress.
You've proven to me that everything happens for a greater good and, from that, given me hope for the greater good that I’m still waiting for.
You've humbled and reminded me that there’s patience I need to build; that my love is still far from unconditional; and that I don’t know people as well as I think I do — no one knows anyone as well as they think they do.
So love and love and love because you just never know.
You've been an outlet to my off-and-on, up-and-down multidimensionality that confuses even me: always some kind of everything simultaneous.
I’ve learned that people should teach you lessons, but people should never be treated as lessons.
I’ve become a firm believer in celebrating little victories and the behind-the-scenes perseverance that it took to get there.
So often I’ve forgotten how deeply and richly God loves me, and I probably won’t ever be able to fathom it.
I’ve seen it in the skies you’ve flashed at me with a palette incomprehensible, and I’m happy my eyes were wide open.
Thanks for turning me into the most ‘me’ I’ve ever been and for being in talks with the clock to put me right where I needed to be exactly when.
To you and your seasons of understanding, growing, and uncovering truth.
All my love and nostalgia.
