A Glorious Mess

For the last few years, I’ve chosen a word of the year, such as Opportunity or Bold. But in 2024, I didn’t pick a word. Instead, I had two: Finish Well.

My intent in choosing that phrase was to sail through the muddle that my year always turns into between October and December. Family birthdays, school exams, end-of-year everythings, and shopping early for Christmas so that all gifts for interstate family are mailed in time. Every year I insist Christmas is a doodle – it’s getting there that’s the problem. I figured if I made a plan and mapped everything out and was aware of what went wrong every other year, I might just get through this one unscathed.

I was wrong.

By November I was as worn out as any other year. I yelled at my sons (or, son, since one moved out in July). I lost things, including my patience. I had too much to do and far too little time to do it. Everything was done with a lick and a promise. The only thing any better than in previous years was the state of my house. It was slightly tidier but only because there was one less person living in it.

At a session with my psychologist, I admitted my lack. Being as prepared as possible hadn’t worked. I was still tired and stressed and chasing my tail. The mantra of ‘Finish Well’ hadn’t kept me on track and now I felt the added pressure of failure.

But during the next couple of weeks, I realised the year wasn’t over. I might have gotten twisted and turned about in November, but I was still going. Looking back over the year, I’d been very industrious. I attended writing courses three Saturdays a month and every Sunday afternoon. I entered writing competitions and won an award. I got my work published in two books. I even managed to keep my cactus garden alive, which for me is quite the feat.

I questioned whether I was right to conclude Finish Well had failed me (or, that I failed it). Yes, I got knocked about, but I kept going. I kept writing. I kept meeting friends. I kept trying to keep the house in a state that didn’t make people assume we’d been burgled. On the last day of the year, I was adding the finishing touches to the manuscript I’d been writing and rewriting while doing everything else as well.

Now, I’ve changed my mind. I think I finished the year quite well. It wasn’t smooth and some parts certainly weren’t pretty. Not all of it was my best effort. But here I stand, ready to do it all again.

I’ll likely fall apart in November this year too. And I probably won’t be very kind to myself about it at the time. But those few weeks don’t define my entire year. Every day is a new chance to try again or keep going. If I take a few backwards steps, they won’t negate everything else I have achieved. The trick is remembering that when I feel like I’m sinking, or that November has come early or more than once.

Perhaps I’ll print out a copy of this post and put it somewhere easily seen (not somewhere safe) to remind me when I feel like I’m flailing that, so far, I have survived all my Novembers.