In 2020, it often felt like there was no use in hoping. It felt like every time I hoped, my hopes were crushed or flattened or burnt or otherwise obliterated, disappointed, let down. In 2021, I want to focus on practicing hope/ cultivating optimism. This year is only 20 1/2 hours old, and I know I have truly zero clue about what the next 8,739.5 hours hold, but here are some hopes.
Where do I hope to be this time next year?
I hope to be COVID-free, happy, healthy, and with Martha in Virginia for New Year’s Eve. I hope still to be living in this apartment with Alijah, sleeping in my little blue room. I hope to save money for grad school, and to visit France this summer. Over the summer, I also want to decide what programs or opportunities I might apply for in the fall/winter. I hope to create more & write more. I hope to post a blog entry at least once a month. I hope to expand my choir screen research, and investigate Jesus & Mary & John as a queer chosen family. I hope to stay in a little cottage to celebrate my birthday. I hope to invest in my community in Brooklyn and especially at St. John’s. I hope to be known at my café and to keep up my mindfulness practice. I hope to read more (goal: 100 books) and to be kind. I hope to be able to hold hands and kiss people again. I hope to be able to safely be in a lovely crowd of people. I hope to learn to rock climb and practice my French regularly. I hope to pursue what I’m interested in, regardless of my assumptions of other people’s opinions. I hope to do water aerobics and eat fresh bread and learn to crochet and to be okay. That’s what I hope for, 2021.
xoxo a (warily) hopeful Clara
my vision board for 2021!