2017: The year of becoming.

When I sit down to write this post every December, it always takes me some time to collect myself and my memories of the year. When I write, I try to say what I mean, and mean what I say. Some things are often hard to put into words—and to write from a place of authenticity requires pause. Space. Days to mull over exactly what to say. This post usually takes a few days, if not weeks to come together. This year, I had the title for this post long before I knew what I would say. I just knew that this year was about becoming.

I look back and allow memories to come to the fore. I think of the ones that seem to recycle themselves time and time again; the ones that seem particularly glittery and, in turn, the not-so-glittery moments. The memories that stand out for me the most when I think of 2017, are those of the times I spent outdoors. The way I can so clearly remember my heart swelling being in these high and wild places, and how it was almost as if my very cells were carrying euphoria around my body, despite the strenuous effort it took to ascend in the first place. Not just the physical effort of climbing uphill, but the effort of intending to go, planning, packing a bag, preparing food, waking up, driving there—week in, week out. This year I may have worked and earned very little, but what I gained in physical strength and received in emotional remuneration are worth more than what money could ever buy—for these memories are what will stick in my mind when I reach the end of my days. I work just enough to be able to afford to hike, climb, shoot and live, but not so much that I don't have time to enjoy the entire reason I am here in the first place. So often I'd just find myself saying out loud, “we live here”.

The year of change: 2016.

I never wanted to be one of those people who said “the year has gone by so fast!”, because well, of course it does, and it will do so every year. But the more time passes, the more I become startled by how much I seem to do within a year (which becomes all the more apparent every time I look back).

This year was the year of transition. That was always clear to me. I just had no idea how much change I was actually in for. There was even change within the change.

Let's recap. In November last year, I was travelling through Tasmania with Martin. In December, we flew to Canada, celebrating the New Year amongst the snow and helping my little brother get settled into Montréal. After falling in love with Canada, and feeling the need for a change for many months last year, we decided: 2017 would be the year we would move overseas together.

The year without pause: 2015.

It's been five years since my first ever year-in-review post. I look forward to these every year, because it's another opportunity to reflect, and then take aim for the next 12 months and beyond.

There's been a bit of a common theme with these posts. They open up about what is going on with me personally, and what I'm working on for the year ahead. Because I'm keeping it real, I talk a lot about whatever I'm struggling with. This year is no different.

If you've been keeping up with the blog for a while now (and so many of you have—thanks for sticking around), you'll know that I've been battling a lot of... stuff. Every year I make a little more progress working through that stuff, but it's been a bit of a cha-cha in that sometimes, I take a few steps forward and another one back. I guess that's all part of the process of working on yourself.

The year to explore: 2014.

Adventure; a thirst to be closer to nature; a ceaseless lust to see more of my city, my home, my world; saying yes to new things; exploring beyond what I believed I could do: all these things were my 2014.

2013 reminded me that I needed to take care of myself; that also meant giving myself space and time to grow, to explore and stay close to all the things that make me glad to be alive. 2014 was about putting all that into practice.

The year of clarity: 2013.

Last year, I came to realise that somewhere along the way, I had gotten lost.

I felt the need to reconnect with the world in a more tangible way, to return to my craft, to creativity and to experimentation. I haven't experimented with my photography for many years; as a result, I often feel like I have grown stagnant. I'm bored of my own work (but as with most creatives, we are our own worst critics).

Most of this year was dedicated to finding my way. It was never going to be an easy journey—it wasn't as if everything would right itself the moment the clock turned over to 2013. Clarity was hard to come by. But one step at a time, some of my greatest clouds lifted, and I found small pieces of myself again.

The year of the in-between: 2012.

I've taken longer than usual to write this post. 2012 was a tumultuous year—a stark contrast to last year. I've had a hard time trying to find the right thing to say about it, and the truth is, there is no one right thing to sum up the year. It was emotionally and mentally challenging, and I am still exhausted. It has drained me in every aspect, in particular, creatively: something I've never experienced before, and it certainly is discomforting. For the first time in my life, I have been lost. I am so used to being put-together and knowing what I want that it took me some time to even realise that firstly, I was deeply unhappy, and secondly, I had lost sight of what I wanted, and what I truly loved.

I was stuck in-between the life I was setting up based on low expectations of what I could achieve, and the life that I could have, after now realising with eyes wide open, that at some point, I had shut myself down and made myself small.