I got a calender full of cows doing yoga. It's pure awesome. So I was flipping through it reading the inspiring quotes accompanying each adorable cow when I noticed that Chinese New Year is in February. Which means this one is ending. It was the Year of the Horse. My Year. No really, apparently I was born during one of the other times that great Horse graced the calender with his presence, so whenever the Year of the Horse cycles back around it's all good times and nice karma for me since I was one of the things that happened during one of the other times he was racing through the months making things happen. Stands to reason that his return would mark a year of Greatness for me. So as I gazed at that tiny label announcing Chinese New Year laid out like a finish line for my Horse, my first thought was that I only have about a month to find my Greatness. Where did the time go? This was supposed to be My Year. I was supposed to magically figure out something magnificent to do with my life, make a sizable dent in those excess pounds, and write the next great American novel. How had I allowed the cosmic Horse to go to waste?
But then I thought back on 2014, to how it had begun. And how it had changed.
At the beginning I spent the bulk of my time serving grumpy people rather unhealthy food, gossiping about Tom Hiddleston, and eating far too many sweet potato fries. Which was fine. But then a job fell into my lap. And, well, everything started changing.
I now spend a big chunk of my day in a group of people. Amazing, awesome, incredible people. And I don't feel self-conscious the whole time. Before this I could count on one hand the number of people I could hang out with for any length of time without constantly feeling fat or ugly or utterly inept at socializing.
I am so happy. I feel so much better about myself.
I may not have accomplished much in 2014. I'm still in limbo, living at my parents house and trying to figure out my next move. I actually weigh more now than a year ago. My novel consists of a vague plot outline, maybe nine pages of random scenes, and the beginnings of about six other books that have nothing to do with the project.
But. I got a job that I love. I painted my room. I finally got to a point where I don't have a meltdown once a week because I'm fat. I have vague plot outlines and random scenes written for about seven different novels. I drove 13 hours straight to Oregon by my self. I finally drove my truck legally. I got tan. I had adventures. I went to three concerts. I touched John Barrowman's behind. I earned the title "My Chissi" with some very important children. I got paid to paint tiles for an adorable frozen yogurt place. I made a mariachi band out of candy. I got to spend time with my older sisters I rarely see. I spent New Years Eve playing Wii games with nieces and nephews and had one fall asleep on me mid-game.
So I guess what I want to say is this:
Thank you Horse.
