New year: new you. What’s wrong with the old me, the current me? The me that hurt, and worked on it, and fell apart. Put back together. Kept going. Achieved the things that, with your try-harder, get-better whip cracking, you want me to leave behind. In the old year, like the broken bauble and the gooey chocolates that no one likes. But I am all of those things: the baby steps, the helpless laughter, the mistakes and U-turns, the extra cheese, the twisted ankles. I’ve seen enough resolutions, firework bright then dead in the mud. It’s another year, so what?
