To me the end of the year is the surprise element within the season of sparkle, champagne and nonexistent snow in this area. Usually December takes me through the wonderland of Nordmann fir fragranced interiors and hand-embellished baubles, invites to a quiet Facebook party of well wishes on my brother's big day, then stops breathing heavily in order to prepare for a day like no other - serving me the consecutive digit on hand appliqued cards and helium balloons so the occupied mind responds to the last hours of an old year in a typical way that it's not ready to be called to action. Every year staring at the customized calendar's last page I feel confused and find myself unacceptably late in the resolution game.
Was it a good year, a bad one? One of the best? I'm shifting away from summarizing it so unequivocally. In so many ways it was a fabulous time of getting to know myself and those I cannot live without. I'm looking forward to experience a great deal of it again and commit myself to expressing more, no matter how scary the idea becomes. And have I changed this past twelve months, two years? If there's one thing noticeable, I'll point at the outer surface. I didn't really get my style (hair, clothes, finishing touches) until I started paying more attention to what was going on on the glossier side of magazines. In between the rain, some traveling and writing I've grown into loving anything quick and easy with a relaxed finish (my bangs are the result of seeking simple ways to have nice and well behaved hair, let me tell you it's OK if I know how to handle a round brush so the quest for managing simple continues). In a good company of pieces I never thought I'd wear (loose fitting, drawing attention, sometimes quite affordable), I feel nothing less than awesome. Or is it just too cold to care? I'll figure it out next year. x
|Jumper: Vero Moda, Cardigan: Primark, Leggins: Miss Selfridge, Suede boots: Lands' End, Hat: New Look|