I start with what I want
— to feel, to accomplish, to be —
Sort through all the expectations
To weed out the ones that aren’t my own
Imagine it’s a year from now
How will the letter to myself read
Telling me about all I’ve done
Or giving me permission
To have not done anything at all
A loophole for grace, kindly given
Though received with bitter resignation
Try again
I write down a list of words
Pulled from the scribbles
Like the word searches that tell you
The first four you see
Are your predictions for the year ahead
I saw one last week and saved them:
Lessons, purpose, breakthrough, power
Close, but no cigar
I think about what I want to keep
What I want to give away
About the times I was happiest
About the times I was productive
Squint to see where they overlap
Doodle a tree growing roots
Thinking, uncommitted
I pull a word from a song
Close my notebook
Let it breathe in my mind
There is still time
With Love,
Natalie