i hate end of year blog posts, so i'm not going to write one. i'm not going to give you a collection of my twelve best outfits or food reviews or things to do in london. i'm not going to list 100 things i want to do this coming year, or compare my list from last year to see how well i did. i'm not going to offer you some sage words on how to be a better you this year, or how to make 2016 the best year ever, or how to give less fucks as soon as the clock strikes midnight. none of that bullshit from me this year.
2015 wasn't the year i thought i'd have. in some ways it was better, and in other ways it was worse. but, it was really real. it wasn't designed in careful thought and consideration, it wasn't lived through carefree spontaneity, it wasn't planned to a tee or littered with empty promises. it was busy; it was full; it was fun; but man, it was tiring. i am tired; exhausted. i am the oldest i've ever been, and i'm really feeling that more and more these days.
i want to say that 2016 will be different, but i don't believe it will. i want to say that this year will be when i stop and look after me more, but i know that won't happen. i want to say that i will strive to be better, healthier, more mindful in the coming months, but i don't like the idea of empty promises. what i do know is that i won't look back; no regrets. there's no point dwelling on the bits you've fucked up, or the relationships you ruined, or the places you didn't get to visit because yesterday is history, and tomorrow's a mystery.
these past twelve months have been full of happy things, full of amazing opportunities, full of incredible people. full of colour. full of weirdness. full of adventures. full of trying. full of discovering more about me. i wake up and count myself lucky every day, so i can only hope that the next twelve will be just as amazing.
happy new year, you wonderful human, you.