52 things.

Fifty-two weeks. Fifty-two Sundays. Sixty-four posts. Countless words. One incredible year.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to say in this post, and not a lot of time actually writing things down. Have I ever done something for this long? Anything? What do I say? What message is so important–what message matters so much–that it marks the end of my 52nd week of writing about the things that matter the most?

I’ve written short stories, Spanish homework, interviews, that one sci-fi thriller that I never finished, and lots and lots (and lots) of poems. For months I’ve been asking myself: what will I do at the end of my fifty-two week experiment? I’ve spent an entire year writing about what matters to me, to those I love, to anyone, really. What happens now?

I’ve learned so much about myself in the past year. I’ve learned that I still really miss my mom. I’ve learned that that’s okay. I’ve learned that when I make up my mind to do something, I can really, truly, actually do it. I’ve managed to figure out what really matters to me, and why. I’ve learned that people care what I have to say. That I say it well. That my life and my thoughts and my hills and my valleys all matter.

So, as I asked at the beginning of this post, what message do I want to send? In this moment, I have no sage advice to bestow. Like all good conclusions, this post has raised more questions than it has given me answers. So I’ve decided to leave you all with the same questions I have asked myself almost every Sunday afternoon since September 22, 2019. I encourage you to ask yourself these questions, too, when you think you may be losing your way. When you’re finding it hard to sit comfortably in the present moment. When you need a reminder of what matters.

Thank you for reading my work. Thank you for the Facebook comments, the Instagram DMs, the text messages asking me what exactly I plan on writing about next week. Thank you specifically to the professors who showed me that my writing has power. Thank you to the friends who stayed up with me on Sunday nights–keeping me awake, keeping me writing, convincing me that I hadn’t, in fact, completely run out of things to say. Thank you to the friends who would come to class on Monday mornings and tell me they read my blog post over breakfast. Thank you Gramma, who sometimes couldn’t figure out how to access the page, and diligently emailed me until I resent the link. Thank you to everyone who continues to show me what matters. Thank you for mattering to me.

What will become of 52thingsthatmatter.wordpress.com? Will I continue to write on this blog? Or will this site become a relic of one crazy year of my life? I’ll admit that right now, at 10:11pm on Sunday, September 20, I don’t know if I’ll post next Sunday. I can’t imagine not posting, but I’m allowing myself the Sunday off for the first time in 52 weeks. If I need it. I don’t know. But I do know that next Sunday will come, the sun will set, and I’ll see my little notebook sitting on my desk. And I know that I’ll keep writing.

I can’t believe I didn’t close my closet door before I took this picture.

“52 weeks from now, I hope to look at this blog and find it filled with special milestones. I hope I’ve written about things both magical and mundane. I hope to see growth.”

– me, 52 weeks ago.

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