When I think about the past year, I don’t think of it with so much resentment anymore. Ringing in 2021, I was in my bed. I went to bed at 9pm. The lack of booze, friends, cheers, kisses, was so fulfilling for me. It felt like 2020 had finally come to an end and I was allowed to just be in my head and in my own self for the one night. The events of 2020 were put in their place. I couldn’t let them bleed into my life any more than they already had.
I still feel parts of 2020 in me though. In my reactions, in words of songs, what I tell strangers on the internet. It all just doesn’t hit as hard anymore. 
In the past two months my outlook on life has changed. I’ve realized that my life is saturated with love. I’ve always been obsessed with being loved…trying to shape myself into the perfect person someone could be infatuated with. I realize now that people pouring love into me wasn’t enough as long as I had no love for myself. It’s like they were pouring into someone who had no bottom. All this love went right through me.
It’s a Sunday night. I’ve always found Sundays hard. When I think about Sundays now though, I think of how I get to see three little kids tomorrow who know me and love me and make me feel seen. How the fact that the little girl and I have the same number of letters in our names, and she had the biggest smile when I told her that the 14 letters made us the same.
On Sundays I think of how being loved isn’t dependent upon being perfect. I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve believed for as long as I can remember that love is earned. Love is kept through proving you deserve it. 
Now, I know that loving someone is timeless. The duration is irrelevant when the feeling is there. The history I’ve made with my friends – the girls who have got me through things I never thought I’d experience – means our stories are intertwined. The two girls from high school who I’ve grown with, the work friends that have turned into best friends, the university friends and exes who picked up my pieces more than once. My mum always answering the phone, and my dad whose love language is making snacks and giving hugs. These are the ones who have made my story.
I’ve also realized in the past year how love is communicated in a thousand different ways. I’ve never been able to show affection. I’ve never been one to initiate affection. It goes through my mind to touch someone and I get a sick feeling when I just can’t bring my mind to my hands and I shut down. When I started working with people with dementia though, it opened my eyes. The “I love you”s from residents, the hand holding, storytelling, hugs, cheek kisses, sunny walks, and the fact that I’m the person tucking them in at night and reminding them that they’re adored. Those are the little things that have made me realize what love actually is. It’s there if you choose to see it. I feel so lucky to have gained these little loves, and that in the past year, I’ve realized what story I want to tell in how I live.
Now, I end phone calls with my friends with “I love you”. I take pictures and videos all the time because seeing people smile back at me is love. I say when I see something I like in someone because it’s nice to have someone try and see you deeply. Understanding is the ultimate intimacy.
Now, it’s very clear to me that I’m right where I’m meant to be, surrounded by the people whose stories I’m very lucky to watch unfold. Even though last year brought so many of us down, these little loves are here to help pick us back up.