If you know me even a little bit, you know we are almost at my favorite holiday, New Year’s Eve. Really, what’s not to love? It’s literally a night where the very next day you get to start over. First page of a blank book, clean slate, whatever you want to call it, I love it. With the rip of a calendar page the whole world can begin again. The whole moment is like a baptism, cleansing us of our past sins and birthing us a new with mere tick of the clock. The whole concept, if you really think about it, is genius.

I’ve been looking back a lot lately (I know, I know, just hear me out for a minute). I mean don’t we all do it? Our instagram “top nine”. Throw back Thursday. Flash back Friday. We don’t even need to wait until New Year’s to look back, we have a hashtag for it all. So, in true New Year’s Eve loving Cassie fashion I decided to look back on some old writing. I’ve had this blog since 2013 which means I have upwards of 8 other posts about my love for this holiday, how my life is going to be so different. Even if I hadn’t written for months, I always found it obligatory to document what was going to be my great transformation into a “new year” and a “new me”. Looking back sure didn’t disappoint in that assumption. Post after post of “this is all the crap that happened this year” and “next year is going to be the best ever. I’m going to make it my year.” Blah, Blah, Blah. I’m nothing if not consistent it seems.

There was the year I was going to be brave, the year I was going to let things go, the year I was going to be strong, the year I was going to leave all my baggage behind. The year I was going to grow up. Year after year. Post after post. Of me simply stating everything that was wrong with me and how next year I was gong to fix it all. I mean, the word resolution in and of itself means to find a solution to a conflict or problem. Is that really how I want to see myself? As a problem to be fixed?

For a minute there, I lost myself.

No, that’s not entirely true. I keep thinking this so often. That I lost myself. That I need to find myself. That I need to “get back” to that girl I was before. Just follow the bread crumbs and they will lead where you need to go. But back to what? Even I don’t know the answer to that question. I am almost 41 years old and I can honestly say, without a doubt, that I have no idea who I am. And no, this not in a “I need to find my calling” or “chase my passion” type thing. But seriously, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt comfortable in my own skin.

When I was little, we learned about rocks in elementary school and the one that has stuck with me the most is conglomerate. I don’t know if you remember your elementary school science lessons, but conglomerate isn’t all that exciting. It’s basically a bunch of rocks all pushed together and held together with some sort of binder (clay, cement, etc.). And that’s me. Not shiny. Not exciting. No even my own rock. I’m just a mixture of all the stuff people have pushed on me. I’ve molded to fit the categories I need to fit. And I’ve done a really great job of that for a lot of years.

The time has come,’ the Walrus said, To talk of many things: Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —Of cabbages — and kings —And why the sea is boiling hot —And whether pigs have wings.’

The time has come.

Maybe it’s best to start with what I know. Things that I know are me and no one else. My favorite color is green, mostly because it’s the color of grass and leaves and life. I love the smell of campfire more than anything and sometimes after sitting outside in front of one, I won’t wash my shirt and sleep with us under my pillowcase so I can fall asleep to the scent. Honeysuckles are the most amazing flowers. I can be silly and flirty sometimes, but I don’t see them as bad things. I’m way to sarcastic for my own good. I’m insanely competitive and I like to be challenged. I have a song for every mood and I save song lyrics like some people save fortune cookie fortunes. I am little superstitious. I believe in the universe and karma. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I’m not too sure I believe in fate either. I’d rather be reading than doing most things and chances are if you are talking to me while I’m reading I am not listening to a word you say (but I’ll nod and pretend I am anyway). If I put my book down for you, you’re special. My favorite song has been my favorite song since I was 10. I have a favorite poem and I read it once a week. My favorite thing is to drive around, listen to music and sing (yes even with gas prices this high and yes, even as badly as I sing). There’s so much more, but I love that each and every one of these things is unfiltered me. They are me regardless if I’m a wife, or mother, or teacher. They stand independent of my roles in life.

Maybe instead of claiming some arbitrary change that I’m going to start making in the New Year, I actually do the opposite. I work. I grow. I learn. But I stay who I am. I stop apologizing for making myself fit into other peoples lives by molding myself to fit into their spaces.

Maybe, I stop being conglomerate. Shine bright like a diamond and all jazz.