Not because it’s not good. It is! My friends and family and random strangers who I share my wares with all enjoy what I make. They are enthusiastic and emphatic in their praise.
I am, however, my harshest critic. Always have been, (probably) always will be. (I shudder to think at someone being harsher to me than I am.) I’ve got a bad case of perfectionism with a touch of the imposter syndrome – so even if a dessert is good, even great, I think it can be better.
And now, there’s this cake. A cake so good it sold out in one night the first time I made it (something my coconut icebox cake was also capable of). A cake so good I waited an entire year to make it again, because I just had to make it again. A cake so good even I like it.
This may be controversial – but I didn’t make any resolutions for 2018.
I didn’t want to.
Setting lofty goals and harsh guidelines (let’s face it, that’s what most resolutions are) fills me with an exorbitant amount of anxiety. The pressure to perform is too much. I worry about failing and disappointing others. In the end, I end up disappointing myself more than anything.
This year, I just want to continue. Keep moving forward.
2017 was a year of hardship and heartbreak (for me and so many other people). But it was also a year of achievements and accomplishments. I’ve spent a good portion of the last few weeks looking back on this year, and previous ones before that, and I have to say, I’m proud. I made serious changes to better my body, my mind, and my heart. I moved back home, got a new job, put myself first. Finally. For once.
And I continued to do that last night. I spent New Year’s Eve with my family – going over to my older sister’s house where we played Mad Libs and drank champagne and colored in coloring books. I squeezed babies and sang terribly. We laughed and ate and took a group photo. It was the perfect end to a less than perfect year.
Imperfect though it was, it was still useful, necessary. If I could label it, I would say that the last year was “The Year of Transition.” It was uncomfortable at times, making me stretch in ways I wasn’t ready for, even if they were necessary. In that discomfort there was growth, real and measurable. Nothing really turned out the way I expected it to, but, truthfully, that seems to be for the better. I’m proud of where I am, grateful for where I was.