Obligatory Reflections on a Year

Gotta start somewhere

I created a Substack last month hoping that it would spur me back into my love of writing: instead, I haven’t published a thing. I have a LOT of drafts, a lot of things I want to say, but nothing feels right, whether with timing or with what is in my heart. And there are some topics I just can’t find the words to do justice.

Perhaps that’s my issue with writing - I’m not willing to put out stuff that doesn’t feel right to me in my soul. But the more I stay away from something, the harder is it to get that ball rolling again.

[insert that whole cliche thing about “momentum”]

For the past decade (starting on my old blogspot!), I’ve put out year-end reflections (I did miss 2020 because…well…2020 was too difficult to even touch). And every year I had a word that summed up the year: change (2015), healing (2016), joy (2017), letting go (2018), rebirth (2019). Had I written a reflection that year, 2020 would have been heartbreak. 2021, a year of survival.

All of these words came from places of pain, of torture, of internal struggle. Of convincing myself of what I wanted to be, but wasn’t quite sure I actually felt. Of reframing challenges into silver linings (seriously, fuck your silver linings).

By contrast, 2022 is pretty unglamorous.

2022 was a year of stability.

Shocking, for me - it feels odd to even write those words. But for the first time in as long as I can remember, this year was pretty stable. No massive eating disorders struggles, no intensive treatment, no earth-shattering running injuries, no personal life upheaval.

It was a good year, and perhaps that’s exactly the reason it feels odd to me.

It wasn’t an epic year in terms of racing: I raced a fair number of ultras, and I had some moderate success, but not the kind of success I used to have 5-10 years ago. (I have a lot of feelings around aging as an athlete which I will one day unpack but I can’t do it justice right now). Overall, pretty happy with it.

I had some frustrating soft tissue kind of injuries that sidelined me for a bit, but it was the first year since 2014 that I didn’t have a stress fracture (whaaaaat?! Go food! Go feeding yourself!). Consistency has been there, which is great.

I fell in love with an incredible man and built a relationship on open communication and a solid foundation. He challenges and inspires me every day and I continue to learn and grow with him.

I feel a bit lost with where I’m going as an athlete on the cusp of 40, but I also have a “don’t give a fuck” confidence to just go for things that I never used to have. It’s new to me, and I like it.

2022 was stable. It’s year I always wanted to have, the year that I always longed for when I was going through the massive ups and downs and emotional upheaval of the past several years. But even when you wish for something and it happens, it still doesn’t mean that it can’t feel odd when you are used to a life punctuated by constant drama and turmoil.

They say that creativity (writing, music, art, etc) comes best from a place of pain. And maybe that’s why I’ve struggled to write like I used to: stability doesn’t lead to the expressiveness. I don’t have to scream into the void via my writing because I don’t really feel the need to scream into the void, at all.

So good job, 2022. Maybe I’ll start to feel comfortable with this whole “stability” thing. And hopefully I’ll find a way to write through it, even when life is good.