The good old yearly reflection

What worked and what didn't?

My partner (I’m still not entirely used to calling him ‘husband’ since we got married this summer) and I have rented an Airbnb in Germany for the last few days of the year. Just a four-hour drive from our home in the Netherlands, and thankfully, big fireworks (or: explosives) are not allowed here. I get incredibly stressed by those deafening bangs that rattle the whole house, and to be honest, I’ve never really understood why they’re even allowed in the Netherlands.

As we take a brisk walk in the crisp winter air, I tell him how this past year felt like I’d come closer to myself. “It’s been a year of ups and downs,” he says. I nod. This year felt like I had to get to know myself all over again after my autism diagnosis. It casts everything I do—and have done—in a different light. It’s like sailing on the same ship but with a whole new set of instructions. I’m still the same person. In fact, I feel this allows for me to even be more myself.

Compensating

Over the past year, I made more time for holidays than ever before, but at the same time, I worked harder than ever to financially make up for that time off. I was also sicker than I’ve ever been (debilitating migraines and endometriosis), and more than once, I wondered if my relentless pace of work was to blame. In many ways, this year has been one of extremes.

I also needed a lot of time to recover from a serious mental setback in the autumn of 2023, which meant spending countless hours in rooms with care providers. The waiting lists for psychologists in the Netherlands are outrageously long, so it’ll be another two years or so before I can even get an appointment (that’s if I can convince the healthcare system I genuinely need one). But things are much better now, and that’s a comforting thought.

When it comes to reflecting, I like to pause and take stock of what didn’t go well so I can learn from it—but also to hold onto the things that did go well. It’s the latter that I cling to the most. Once, my driving instructor told me that if I ever veered off the road into the verge, I shouldn’t focus on where I didn’t want to go, but instead look where I did want to go. I’ve since turned that into life advice, and it works.

Good things in 2024:

(less readable in dark mode: view online)

I enjoy getting older

This year, I turned 40. Around me, I saw some peers mildly panicking, but I absolutely love it. Sure, I can feel my body slowly succumbing to gravity and my energy levels dwindling, but despite all that, I’m content with it.
How incredible is it to have the privilege of growing older? I’ve grown as a person; I’ve become wiser. I thought I knew enough when I was 34, but I’m realising more and more that with age comes not just years but layers of knowledge and wisdom.

I’m genuinely looking forward to becoming a grey-haired old woman, brimming with wisdom to share with younger women.

I can’t wait to become the kind of woman the patriarchy is terrified of.

The difference between work and work

What’s interesting is that work hardly comes up when I think about my best moments, even though it takes up such a significant portion of my life. And just to clarify: there’s a difference for me between my daily work and the “work” I do for myself. While the two often run parallel—like trains on tracks that nearly touch and occasionally switch tracks—they’re not the same thing.

Writing on Substack feels like it’s “for me,” just as creating my monthly newsletter does. Making a drawing in my sketchbook? That’s for me. These illustrations I made above? For me. Painting? Also for me. Most of the work I create for clients, on the other hand, is my bread and butter—the work I do to pay bills and put food on the table. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s unpleasant (often, it’s not), but it feels very different from my other “work.”
I get that this might sound confusing as a reader. Perhaps I’ll write more about it another time, once I’ve clarified in my own mind exactly what that difference is.

During the art retreat I hosted this year, the first assignment for participants was this: “What do you want more of? And what do you want less of?”

Here’s my attempt at answering it myself. I might add more as I go.

More (or the same):

• Genuine conversations and connection with others

• Writing (I experience flow when I write)

• Walking and spending time outdoors

• Wearing high-quality jumpers (hooray for Seasalt)

• Sea air and swimming in the ocean

• Painting (I only managed to create four this year)

• Taking photos with my analogue camera

• Reading books for pleasure, instead of trying to learn something

• Being around like-minded people

• Listening to my intuition

• Impromptu outings

• Embracing and being myself, even if it alienates some

• Checking in with my body and mind and living according seasons

Less:

• Overworking

• Saying ‘yes’ too quickly

• Unhealthy food

• Making myself small

• Spending time with people who drain me

• Planning too far ahead

• Forcing myself to finish books I don’t enjoy

• People-pleasing

• Prioritising work above all else

• Giving energy to people (men) who try to belittle women

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On the note of feeling more connected to others: I’d love to know what you want to do more or do less off in the new year. I’d love to get to know you a bit better.