Amidst all the hustle and craziness of this time of year, the Ghost of Christmas Past lingers close in my mind.
During those few stolen moments early in the morning before the sun rises and the slumberers awaken, and the cracking fire is my only companion, my mind often wanders to where I am this year compared to last. I reminisce about who is no longer in my life, what challenges I’ve faced this year that wasn’t apparent last, and think about who has entered my life.
It’s not morbid.
It’s my way of telling myself that the only constant is change.
This year, we sold a house in a state where I had spent two decades raising my children. We moved 1,000 miles away to a new time zone. There I met dozens of people—several of whom I now call friends. Our youngest kids went to college—one in the state where he was born and one in the state I spent my youth, each 1,000 miles away from where I am now.
We’ve spent more time with family who had previously been far away. We traded our flip-flops for cowboy boots. Yes, we’re those people.
I ghostwrote a book with a double transplant survivor about the importance of keeping a great attitude. And I’m talking to other people who want to tell their stories.
I walk more than I drive these days.
We visited my brother in Hawaii, I saw my son win a dance contest with his fraternity, I took my other son on a two-day road trip to school. I was there when my mother celebrated her 90th birthday.
I’ve embraced AI as a necessary part of doing effective work, even if it will probably replace me. And I’ve explained how to best use large language models on a few webinars.
I won an award from the Florida Authors & Publishers Association for my book The Glinda Principle but couldn’t attend the awards banquet because our house sold much quicker than expected and I was in mid route to a new life when my author peers were walking across the stage.
We glamped in Wimberley, Texas; attended our new hometown’s Oktoberfest; shopped for wedding dresses with our soon-to-be daughter-in-law; and raced to Pittsburgh thinking our youngest was experiencing appendicitis.
Life is certainly different than this time last year when I didn’t realize half of what was in store.
But there are still things I’m working on—carryovers, residuals, the same things in many respects. I still carry more weight than I should and eat more sugar than is healthy. And I haven’t booked as many speaking gigs as I had on my 2025 goal sheet.
Yet each day brings new opportunities and choices. There are things I saw going one way, that ended up another, and there were occurrences that I didn’t see happening at all, yet they did.
Redirection
But before you see this list as self-indulgent, depressing, or boastful, this look back is necessary. It’s important to understand where you’ve been to appreciate the potential in where you’re headed.
It may seem impossible for you this time of year to give a lot of thought to how things have changed. But it’s all part of your story.
And it’s only in the rearview that we can appreciate how rejection was just redirection.
On our way to Texas this year, we were buzzing along at a good clip. The weather was great and the golden hour cast a beautiful glow that made even the eighteen-wheelers look majestic. I was following my husband but he’s a more aggressive driver so he was about a quarter mile ahead of me.
Then I lost him. A few big rigs, some tall-profile SUVs, and several s-curves hid him from view. Then my GPS rerouted me. I assumed it had done the same for him and that was why I couldn’t see him. I had seconds to decide if I was going to exit the highway or continue on.
I went with the redirection.
Moments after exiting the highway, I was convinced the GPS wanted me lost in the tall grass of Mississippi backroads. There were twists and turns and one-lane bridges. How could this be the most efficient way to get to where I was going? Cell service was in and out like a twenty-something friend with benefits. The East Coaster in me broke out into a sweat.
Lost. Hopelessly lost. Sure, I followed the directions, but with fading cell service, it was only a matter of time before I had no guidance. Then I’d be trapped among the hills and hollows–a warning for women traveling. I cursed my GPS for being dumb. This was all its fault.
I realized then without a paper (or downloaded) map in the car, I was no longer in control. I had to hope my cell signal would hold until I could see the highway again or at least get out of the rural area and find a gas station oasis (preferably Buc-ee’s).
That’s when I noticed how enchanting the fading sunlight looked on the golden grasses, how the rust on the roof of a long abandoned cabin appeared to be purposefully done to offset the dismal gray color of the building, how horses are majestic beasts with gorgeous curves and tails that swish rhythmically.
I stopped worrying about what was next and concentrated on where I was. After all, there might be a chance I’d need to park my car in that golden grass and wait out the night if I couldn’t figure it out soon.
But I tamped the fear down and opened my eyes to what was all around me. The bucolic landscape of impossibly green hills and golden accents wasn’t anything like the sterile views I had seen from the highway and yet the road that took me to this peaceful place was only a few hundred feet away.
I was seeing the real Mississippi, not the man-created one but the natural one. Untouched. Less traveled. Vibrant in its simplicity. (Still, I was happy to have a full gas tank.)
Then I saw the sign to reenter the highway. When I did, cell service improved, and the views became more predictable—billboards, parts of exploded tires, fast-food wrappers.
I called my husband. He was stuck in traffic on the highway miles behind me. There had been an accident after he passed my turnoff. My concern over the time I had lost from my detour evaporated. I was thankful I had seen what I had. Undisturbed beauty and open roads.
It made no sense to me while I was in it, but my redirection had given me an experience my husband hadn’t had.
The Gift of Retrospect
We don’t always know why the plot twists of our lives happen. Perhaps they’re making way for something bigger and better or maybe, in my case, just giving you a better view.
And regrets aren’t worth your time because we can only base our decisions on the information we have at that moment. My husband hadn’t had my choice to exit and I hadn’t known why it was suggested I should.
We can only do what is best for us at that time with the tools and skills we have.
With any luck you’re not the same person reading this today as you were this time last year. You’ve learned something. You have overcome (or are working on that) and life has thrown you some curveballs.
But we learn from life in two ways—experience (having lived it) and learning from someone else by either hearing, reading, or watching their story.
So, during the holidays, give yourself the gift of reflection because when you open it, you’ll also likely receive the gift of appreciation. Be gentle with yourself and notice not what you didn’t accomplish but what you weathered and endured. Don’t look for only big wins; look for the strength it took to keep going some days whether you were battling fatigue or something bigger than that.
A new year is just around the corner, but before you spend time thinking about how you will try to change yourself for the better, appreciate the person you are today.
And think about the message you might have to share with others.
Don’t let another year go by without sharing your story with the world. If you don’t know where to start, start small. Think about:
- What moment changed you?
- What did it cost you to learn?
- What do you know now that would help someone else?
If you have a story you’ve been carrying, I’m here to help you translate it into words that resonate.
Well written Christina. Happy New Year !