The year is done. I spread the past 365 days before me on the living room carpet, point to the one where I decided to shed everything not deeply committed to my dreams, refused to be a victim of self pity. Here is the week I slept in the garden. In the spring I wrung the self-doubt by the neck, hung your kindness up, took down the calendar, danced so hard my heart learned to float above water again. In the summer I unscrewed all the mirrors from their walls. No longer needed to see myself to feel seen, combed their weight out of my hair. I fold the good days up and place them in my back pocket for safe-keeping, draw the match, cremate the unnecessary, the light of the fire warms my toes. I pour myself a glass of hot cider to cleanse myself for January. Here I go, stronger and wiser into the new.

The year is done – by Rupi Kaur

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE