This is the first year I have tried the ritual, and I give myself a load of grace, both because it's a new experience AND because doing anything on such a list seems better to me than not making one at all. My near final tally? Is 8. I celebrated my birthday in a beautiful place with my family, threw a dinner party, solved my aunt's DNA mystery, grew Hatch chilis in my garden, read 24 books, reinstated our Oscar weekend, spent Thanksgiving at the beach, and saw my dear friend Pauly for the first time in too many years.
"What are some things you didn't get to?" my sister-in-law asked this afternoon.
"I didn't clean out the attic," I sighed, "or take a class. I also didn't go away for a spa week or weekend, but I put that back on my list for 2023. And I wanted to travel internationally, but that didn't happen; although there is a chance we might go to Canada if we ever get to Buffalo."
"Does that even count?" asked my nephew's wife. She lives in Iceland.
"Kind of?" I shrugged. "Oh, and I also wanted to go cross country skiing or snowshoeing."
"It's definitely not too late for that," noted my sister-in-law, and I realized how right she was.
As soon as we got home, I climbed to the attic and fetched my snowshoes, feeling ever more prepared for our trip north.
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