In 2018, I had left my dog, Leland, in Chicago with my ex-husband so I could move out to California and start a new job. No words can encapsulate how devastating that was for me. We had only been divorced for seven months and were trying out the whole shared dog custody thing, a ridiculous modern-day issue that childless couples face post-breakup.

As I write this I can see the outline of where my dreamcatcher used to hang, just to the right of my window. I took it off my wall yesterday, wrapped it in paper, and placed it in a box. If I stare intently, I can see the actual lines that made up the inner web of the dreamcatcher. The ring that held the web together. The strings that dangled from the ring — beads and feathers and ribbons. Everywhere you look, it appears I stenciled my walls with smoke. I couldn’t fathom why my walls were so alarmingly dirty. All the wildfires, my sister said. And then I had immediate concern for my lungs.

Friday nights were the worst. I would stick my hand into my purse as I walked out of the glass doors at work and search for my travel pack of tissues. The ones that I hid in every coat, all my handbags, in the console of my car and the drawers of my work desk for the inevitable moments when my eyes would start leaking, often unexpectedly and always aggravatingly. As I watched everyone else leave work and make their way home to kids and spouses and pets and out to dinner with friends, I would climb into my car and hear nothing.

I once was a wife. 

There was a point in time when I’d wake up alone and astonished. When I drowned in the silence of my apartment, silence that I had craved, and then, when granted, suffocated me. For the first few weeks after moving out of my condo I shared with my husband, I sat in my empty loft on the one lone rattan chair that cocooned me until my new furniture arrived. I watched an entire TV series in that chair, the echo of the TV boomeranging off the walls, my puffy eyes reflected back at me when I powered the TV off. 

On the eve of New Year’s Eve a pizza peel arrived on the front porch of my sister, Jamie’s, cabin. She and I watched as my brother-in-law, Ted, ripped open the box, assessing the size and whether or not it was big enough for the pizzas we were going to toss onto his brand new Big Green Egg. The day prior, Jamie and I went to our favorite spot in Traverse City, Folgarelli’s, in search of all of the items we needed. Neapolitan pizza dough, imported sauce, bottles of wine, and an impromptu cash-register cookie purchase.

Looking at the highs and lows of a year can be so confronting. Oftentimes when I write these blog posts I end up in a fit of ugly tears as I relive some of the more tender moments of my life. But seeing how far I’ve come, looking back at the lessons and wisdom that blossom from my struggles – that’s what I live for.

Outside the window there is a perfect snow globe of fresh flakes falling from the sky, like Santa ordered it himself. Beneath the windows are photos of my nieces and nephews, wedding photos of important people in my dad and stepmom’s life, new babies who have since grown, family vacations, and school photos. I wonder what it was like for them to take my wedding photos down. Was it a conscious decision they made together? Was it one that bore little thought? Or did they reminisce about that day or my relationship?

My practice this year as I navigate self-trust is to simply pause when faced with indecision. Instead of flipping through my internal rolodex to find someone else to tell me what to do or how to feel, I use my own reflection skills to determine the best course of action. Something as minor as a text to a potential first date or as grand as a new job, I have found a handful of questions very helpful in getting me to tap into my own internal trust. It's my new rolodex for decision making and it goes something like this:

I view the beginning of a new age as my "new year" instead of January 1. Reflection has always been a big part of my life. I find so much joy in noticing growth. The past few years, I've been using the Desire Map to hone in on what I want to create as I walk into a fresh year. In this workbook, the intent is to cultivate how you want to feel in your life before you set your goals, as most goals are usually made because we think we will feel a certain way once we achieve them.