January 1, 2022

I love fresh starts: a morning after a night of sleep, the Monday of a new week, and the start of a new year. There is no material difference between the moments categorized into days, weeks, months, and years, but there seems to be an innate human urge to grant ourselves these points of renewal. We follow our strange traditions: black-eyed peas and collard greens, starting many things we may or may not finish, and life goes on. I want to release my hope from my clenched fists and let it fly out into the light. Can I risk it?