As I Step Into This New Year

I move without ceremony, without waiting for the floor to explain itself, because motion has always taught me more than pause.

As I step into this new year
it’s a shoulder through the door,
coffee still bitter,
sleep still uneven,
hands already marked by whatever kept me up last night kind of step.

I move without ceremony,
without waiting for the floor to explain itself,
because motion has always taught me more than pause.

Somewhere along the way
my body learned before my mouth did.

It learned
how to keep going
through unfinished days,
how to stay present
when answers never arrived,
how repetition turns effort
into something dependable.

That stayed with me.
It settled into timing,
into how I place my weight,
into the way I commit once I move.

I carry habits built through necessity,
instincts shaped by hours
that did not announce their purpose,
attention sharpened by having to stay aware.

None of it asks to be admired.
All of it works.

The year behind me left its imprint in posture and pace,
in how I choose my steps,
in how I remain steady
when things stretch longer than planned.

I learned what I can hold,
what I can move,
what I can return to without losing myself.

This new year receives someone already engaged,
already practiced,
already familiar with carrying weight forward.

I enter this year with momentum earned through staying,
with confidence grounded in use,
with a willingness to keep applying myself
to whatever comes next.

I step into this year breathing,
alert,
uneven,
continuing with my whole weight involved,
ready to move through this stretch of time
the way I have learned to move through anything,
by staying present and taking the next honest step.

Whatever comes next
will meet me already in motion.

Thanks for staying till the end.
Most people don’t.
I notice it every time someone makes it this far. Through the noise, through the pain, through the part that asks for honesty instead of comfort. I don’t take it for granted.

Your presence keeps this alive.
If this work speaks to you, help me keep it alive. Your support covers the hours, the sound, the ink, the breath it takes to build all of this.

You can buy me a coffee to fuel the next page, read the books that started it all, or grab the merch that carries these stories into the world. Every bit of it keeps the words coming. Raw, honest, and still here.