2017

I have several New Year’s Eve traditions that I’m quite fond of. One is thoroughly cleaning my house and smudging everything before midnight; I like to enter a new year with good energy and a spotless house.

Another tradition ois celebrating the new year early with Olive. I run her a hot bath with bubbles and candles and we drink sparkling apple juice out of champagne glasses while talking about our goals for the new year – all the things we’d like to learn and do and become.

The last tradition, however, has quickly become my favourite one and it’s only in its second year: New Year’s Eve yoga.

I owe my mom endless gratitude for staying with Olive tonight while I braved a blizzard to attend an hour-long hot yoga class at 11 pm, because otherwise it never would have happened. I’m so, so glad it did.

After getting changed, I walked into the class, settled myself on my mat, and felt the room grow gradually hotter and hotter. My skin began to dampen and flush. After a few minutes, I began to sweat in earnest and as I watched drips fall off my forehead and the tip of my nose I felt like I was seeing all the accumulated experiences of 2016 seep out of me, drop by drop.

2016 tasted both salty and oddly sweet. 2016 felt like growth and reaching and pushing myself. I relished 2016, I stretched my fingers and toes deep into this new life of mine and explored each one of its edges. 2016 was a series of fluid, deliberate actions. My movements weren’t always steady and my muscles trembled at times, but beneath that uncertainty I felt strong and capable, too.

This yoga tradition is the very best way I’ve ever found to welcome a New Year. I walked out of that class and into 2017 feeling completely there. I felt content, my body warm and glowing, my mind soft and slow.

Welcome to 2017, lovelies. It’s going to be a great one.