As Nora Ephron famously said, and as many of you here on echo: “The hardest part of writing is writing”. A goal and a timeline were set, action was taken, and in an ode to my writing hero, Joan Didion, “Life changes in the instant”.

Life changed in the instant. It became unrecognizable. 2018 is not worthy of a reprise.

This year, there will be no funny words.

This year, there will be be no humorous cards.

This year, there will be no picture collages. There will be no games, nor will there be any fun facts.

This year was different from all other years. This year, there is no joy.


Next year, will I have faith in myself?

Next year, will I become capable of finishing anything that I have started?

Next year, will I not be blindsided again?

Next year, will I stop thinking about what could have been?

Next year, will I live in the moment, instead of in the past?

Next year, will I feel good enough to live to the next?


Right now, there are no adequate words.

Right now, nothing feels right.

Right now, I wait for the year to end

only to start it all over?


Next year, maybe there will be joy.

Next year, maybe there will be funny cards and letters, and maybe some fun pictures of the year past, and the reflection of a life filled with joy. Next year, there may be games and fun facts.

But at this time, there are no words.

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