The last few days of the year always feel like the back pages of a notebook.
The are still useable, but there isn’t enough room to start a project or even write a full chapter. It’s the end, time to wrap things up. I often use this time to look back over the previous pages, but some years I simply want to close the notebook and start fresh.
There’s something great about the days ahead in a new year. All those clean pages and the promise of adventures to come. I don’t want to discard the last few days of the year, but they are stragglers, crumpled and frequently stained pages, so it is easy to move past them.
But this morning I thought…
Where would every great story be without the ending? What if the last few pages are the best part and I’m sleeping, not present, just waiting for the new? There can be no closure without the ending. I need to finish the race, push through until I cross the tape.
Wrinkled pages or not, dwindling hours are still hours.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Just Before Dawn.