Whiplash.

I think the theme for this year, in my own personal life, has been warp-speed.  Just now, as I sat down with my cup of hot tea to nurse my sore throat and write a blog post, I could not believe my eyes when I saw it had been more than a month since I'd last written anything here.  (Remember the days when I used to panic if I'd been away for five days or so?  Oh, sweet grasshopper.)

Of course, I can't truly be surprised at my minimal posts this year.  Lately I'm proud of myself if I find the time to get to work and yoga and school and connect - albeit briefly - with those friends and family I hold near and dear.  My to-do list is 8 miles long and that's only covering the stuff that I actually remembered to write down.  Hell, even my beloved cat, Sophia is feeling neglected - she insists on crawling on and sleeping on my lap as I type this. And as we all know, cats never let on that they might actually want something from you.

On Monday night my writing group and I had our annual holiday dinner.  This group of women has been so tolerant of my schedule the past two years and they let me keep coming to meetings even though I only read their work and haven't turned anything of my own in for feedback in, oh I don't know, forever.  I commented on this while we at dinner, thanking them for not kicking me out.  Sometimes, I told them, I feel like all of my creativity and my artistic side has just been utterly drained. For the past year and a half I've gone from days at a stressful job to school and difficult classes and back again.  While I wouldn't change it, no sir,  I am working very hard - and this is the plan for 2017 as well (listen up resolution list!) at not losing my sensitive, thoughtful, creative side.  She is more important than I even realize. Sure, business is tough and my recent Investment Banking class lacked any sort of artistic expression, but there's room for that creative space too, even within the world of MBAs.  It's all in the balance.

So here I am, back in front of my computer on the coldest day of the year so far, itching to write.  I almost didn't post anything this evening; I was worried about what I'd write about, how it would sound, if anyone would even read it.  But as I have learned - and remind myself on a regular basis - is that sort of fear does no one any good, ever. 

Lately, because I have zero time, I find myself reflecting on the days when I seemed to have an abundance of time - when I never once thought about my job once I'd left the office, when my city dwelling friends and I had hours upon hours to kill with nothing to do.  I'd read, I'd sleep late, I'd read some more, we'd meet for drinks or dinner or the movies, hang out at each others apartments watching TV, I'd pack my lunches for work, I'd actually find time to cook something rather than rely on takeout...did I mention it didn't take me months to get through a book? How in the world did I ever have that much time, I find myself wondering.

Yes, I know. It only moves faster from here.  Every year.  I know. 

Still, I remain hopeful. That maybe, in this last pre-holiday push I'll find a minute to catch my breath, to get caught up in the magic of the season, and find a way to be present, in the present.  If I can close out 2016 that way, I will consider it a success.

A whirlwind, but a success all the same.