So. Twenty-twenty-one.

In many ways, this was a complex and challenging year. COVID remains as prevalent as it was the year before. My self-imposed quarantined continued, and for the second year in a row, I didn't get to see or get in touch as much as I wanted with the people I love. And the world, well, any Twitter search should be more than enough to set the stage for what a clusterfuck of a year it was.

And yet—

It was also a great year on its own.

If I had to summarize what happened in a word, I'd possibly cheat on my own game and reply "a bunch of self-discovery" because, oh boy, things happened, were said, experienced, and learned, and they brought me to where I sit today.

Finding out more about who we are is both unnerving but also freeing, like standing up above the tallest of the buildings, one foot near the edge, another one already floating, and feeling the air rushing through our faces, and then jumping—or falling—and finding that air turns into a breeze and a rush, a hand that keeps us afloat as we fly around towards the next goal.

If in previous years I had assumed I knew much about what I was and did and enjoyed and the many tricks and treats I had to use to, well, work, this year let me know that, girl, no. There's always more. There's always new.

I thought there wasn't much I needed to prove myself on my professional acumen. I learned I was wrong. That I could do more. Learn more. That I had quenched a bit part of the fire that irrupted inside, and that challenges were, as before, as always, the key that unlocks it and makes it blaze away.

I learned I could do more than one role and still flex muscles that had gone unused for long. And that I still thrive building products and exploring new ideas, just as much as I love supporting others, hearing them, and letting them shine.

This was also one of my best years financial-wise.

I learned how to pay some debts better and save money more sustainably. And that it's a skill I need to continue polishing. That, for a second year as well, I had enjoyed balancing my accounts, projecting what I needed to pay, and when, and feeling more and more comfortable with losing some limits.

This was a year that taught me how to collect more books. And that collecting books is an expensive hobby and that I'd eventually get used to the thought of spending three (and four) figure's on hard-to-find The Hobbit or LOTR editions. But that, finally, it was something I could afford to do. For now. And that as easy as I get into that, I could also dial it down and remain in control.

Through the months that came and went, after vaccines, additional doses, and boosters, I learned that I had grown to feel anxious about going out. And that is related, in part, to how a year (or more) of unchecked weight gain had gone on.

But it also was the year where I learned I had more control over that than I thought. That I could exercise ten, twenty, thirty, or fifty minutes daily, for weeks, without missing a day, a feat (for me) that I had always considered so foreign and alien that it didn't even merit consideration.

Twenty-twenty-one was also the year of trying to stop ignoring what truths lay inside. Of knowing that it wasn't silly to feel how I felt. Or wrong.

Of being in peace (or trying to) with the fact that I'm bisexual, even when I thought (or wanted to think), I wasn't. And that it really didn't matter that much in the end, at least not for now, and it if did at some point, I could do what I always do.

Figure it out.

It was a year of learning to love more of me. What I can do.

That I could be a good friend. Partner. Boss. Employee. That even if I disliked being humble (or, more precisely, faked humility), that it was hard—really hard—to take compliments as they come. Of learning that it was just a learned behavior, some remanent of years past, where I needed to feel useful, and nothing more, and allowing myself to be seen, felt, or acknowledged would make me visible.

That's something I'm still learning and something I know will take some time, and that time is fine, for I still got it, and the reward is worthy. Blending in the side of my self that knows every good thing I can do, and the one that knows that it is ok for others to know that and that it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to fail because I am, but only that I can be just me, and that being mean is, well, great.

I am great.

And those past months? These were the ones where the last piece of self-discovery took place. There were the months when, thanks to the support of others, I finally decided to seek out some help about something that had been in the back of my mind for decades (funny how many things tend to reside there, right? I'd wonder what's left, but I must leave something for next year).

The months were I learned, officially, I had ADHD. And anxiety. And that I would benefit from medication. And that I'd go ahead and take it and find out just how better my own life could be.

It was a time of relearning and letting go. Of figuring out how many coping mechanisms I had taken through most of my life, which ones were not so good, and which ones I could replace.

That I could have more control over what I did when I wanted to do it. That I wasn't really lazy. Or a mess. Or that I didn't care. That there were things going on in my brain, making it a tad lil different. And that it was ok. Different is good. I like being different. But help could make it more bearable.

And through that process of relearning, trying out new things, and building up new tools and techniques, those negative thoughts that circled my mind were also prevalent due to this, and that I could control them more.

As usual, it came down to trying to be more gentle with me.

Many friends had always said something to me that took me too much to understand. "Why aren't you as kind with yourself as you are with others?".

It has taken me thirty-six years (and some months) to recognize that they were right, that I was wrong, and that it was ok that I was wrong. That I can be kinder with myself. More attentive. That I can give myself more leeway, and that it doesn't mean I won't push myself as much as I do know, nor expect less, just like I don't expect less than others even if I understand circumstances may prevent something, sometimes.

And so, just a few hours to go while we start another year, and I write a sort of summary, primarily for myself, is that I get to reflect on what I want to accomplish next year, a common question that's usually filled with skills I want to learn—and do—and projects I want to undertake—and I don't—but that, this time, I think will be answered with a single word.

To know that I love myself.

And that I'm still a cheater in my own rules.

Happy year, everyone! And may the next one be, let's say, just different. In a kind way.