It’s January 1, 2021. And my gift to myself this year is this. Allowing myself time and space to write. To be. Furthermore, I’m giving myself not only permission to journal but also permission to be imperfect in my writing. I think what so often has stopped me from journaling or writing in the past is feeling that the words, the grammar, the style, the message, the photos, the everything has to be perfect or at least nearly perfect. But I’m done with that. I’m hanging up my please-others perfectionistic hat. It’s okay if I mess up my grammar; it’s okay if I fail to inspire; it’s okay if the only one who understands what I’ve written is me; it’s okay if I’m the only one who sees what I write; it’s okay if I don’t post the most perfect photos to go along with my words; it’s okay if some thoughts aren’t completed, some memories are never documented, and some thoughts never shared. Because a little something is better than nothing. And a little something is what I need so badly. I’ve needed it for so long. It’s almost as if I’ve been living with only one lung for too many years to count. A writer needs to write and if they don’t, it’s like a constant gnawing at the back of the mind and deep within the heart, and even further within the soul. So this year I’m giving myself permission to write and permission to be imperfect. I’m even giving myself permission to be happy.