I put so much hope into the passing of that final minute. 

The new year lies ahead like a layer of fresh snow, free of footprints but full of pure possibility.  A blank canvas.

In the ‘before’ I was a cold, hard realist.  Now, in the settling dust, I am a dreamer.  My dreams are blurry and exotic.  They are large and daring and that is how I need them to be. It is what makes the suffering worth bearing.

Just let me talk.  Just let me hope.  Just let me dream. 

 Because, all I really fear is standing still…

   and being alright with it.

The reality is that I don’t need to taste curry in India this year, or trek through Mongolia or wander the streets of Paris. 

More than likely my book will stay tucked inside my head. 

The possibility of it is enough for now...because one day…

Just maybe.

Just let me talk.  Just let me hope.  Just let me dream.

and

while I am waiting, I know that life will be filled with hundreds of little miracles—dreams I never dreamt, un-exotic, unexpected little moments of wonder getting me through until the passing of that final minute… marking the end to another year.

Thankful to love and be loved,  thankful to be alive, thankful to dream.

It is snowing.  It is still and it is beautiful.