In the wake of a year that has seemed to punch everyone I know in the face, I find myself asking this very question: how do we celebrate our successes in what feels like a tumultuous age? How do we even define our successes at this rate - are they the tangible thin(s) we find ourselves going back to, or posting about online, or are they feelings, the knowing that we will be okay, maybe not right now, or for a while, but that there is something within us, a friend in our circle,  a hug from a loved one, a song we haven’t heard in a while, that will guide us where we need to be? 

On Christmas Day, I took myself for a jog “around the block” near my family home. As I was lacing up shoes that were too tight around the edges of my feet, I was taken back to when I first started properly running during the pandemic. The pressure to reinvent myself crept in during those initial weeks and stayed for far too long as Instagram Reels and Tiktoks began populating my feed later that year. Like many, I took up crazy cooking habits and read lots of books and practiced for hours and hours making myself productive for the sake of it during this time. The Michelle I know is one whose brain is constantly on and doing things, operating to produce, to make, never to sit still - this is what I told myself. With running, though, I started it for joy, just like I write because it’s a part of who I am, and would take myself for runs in my neighborhood, basking in the accomplishment of running my first 5k in April 2020 and curating collections of songs to run to.

I sometimes call myself a “long distance runner” but my Strava won’t stand for that right now, as my flaky relationship with running has peaked during races and fallen off the wagon in recent months. I am like everyone else: balancing work, life, skincare routines, last minute gigs I want to see, and figuring out my place in the world. I often tell myself I “don’t have time” and get discouraged when I see I haven’t been active on the app for months, but a recent run with my friend Andrew changed this for me. We ran and didn’t track anything, just chatted, caught up, felt the chilly air in our nostrils and made our way around the canals in East London. I didn’t feel guilted to exercise, for it to be this chore, this thing I had to do to be a “productive and sane person” - it was just something I did for me as part of a random December day. As I shook out my limbs and left my house on Christmas morning, I knew this too was an act of celebration for myself, a little moment to enjoy my own company.

In a similar fashion, starting this blog was much like that. I originally envisioned it as a newsletter, a space to tell you about when I had gigs to be a Professional Artist and to keep you at an arm’s distance, but I quickly realised that i didn’t want that. I want you to be right here with me, as if you’re my boyfriend doing the crossword with me over FaceTime. I want to tell you the stories I write down on the tube and share ideas and create a space where we can all feel more human (hey siri: is it really selfish to say these things and assume you can create that for people?) I want to invite you to a place that celebrates and grieves it all - the big, the little, the everything in our lives, the versions of ourselves that we once were, the people and artists and thinkers we can’t wait to become.

I grew up as a writer, making small books and jotting down stories and poems when I should have been paying attention in class, and this year is the first time I have ever really called myself that, a person who writes. I seem to live on my laptop and between the pages of my notebooks and I feel as though the internet has had an intervention with me to say, “Hey Michelle, yes you, you are a writer, and that can be big or small or whatever size you like, but embrace this part of you.” Maybe you, yes you, had something like that this year, too, something or someone that has made you feel as though you have permission, that you no longer need to bend to unrealistic expectation, that life is not about being productive all of the time, but having balance, enjoyment, ease, care, joy.

Like many this year, I have felt love, both holding my hand and through my screen, 3,000 miles away. Like many this year, I felt sadness when I left school for the first time and my family fell apart. Like many, I laughed over stupid videos on my phone, nearly screamed in restaurants because of how good the food was, and wrote down silly questions to ask my friends at a later point in time. Like many this year, I took pictures and videos I may only come back to in 4 years time, while in an airplane seat or doing a frantic search for a screenshot of a funny text. Like many this year, I did the impossible: I had hard conversations and fell asleep on trains and went on vacation with my friends and cried in the toilets at gigs and I put way too much pressure on myself and I realized that i am not a machine but rather a human, a Michelle, a person celebrating an anniversary, a girl who is trying her best.

Like many this year, I have made goals and wishes and resolutions for the year ahead. Like many this year, I will still probably feel stressed on January 1st, but like many this year, I will not let this define me.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented and shared and supported me in this way - here’s to brighter days ahead in the new year and all the more reasons to celebrate :)