I start a new job tomorrow on Wednesday, January 2. I wish my mother would pack a lunch in my red backpack to allay the anxious first day of school. Tomorrow morning, I walk to the bus, which I had best not miss. I wonder about my busmates, the building hallways, my company-issued laptop.
It all ends. I run my last run. I do my last 7-minute workout. I write my last post. I cook my last lunch. I even stock up on staples like granola with a mad New Year’s Eve oat bake.
I keep reassuring myself, “I’m not dying; I’m just changing.” As a child of routines, I do realize that my life tomorrow will suddenly be quite different from life today. I’m giving up writing daily in this journal, although I will try post weekly now on Sundays. I’m ceding my daily short workout, but will keep running a half-marathon each weekend. I’m stopping manic cookery for all my meals. The company provides lunch and I accept the occasional dinner buying on the way home from the bus from a restaurant (shocking!).
I’m sad to end this fraught six-month period of leisure. I had space and time and insight to dwell (sometimes unproductively). I’m happy to start a new chapter. “Let’s make something real, let’s make a Yaz record.” Let’s push the door open.