“… And you keep playin’ to that chip
Chip on your shoulder
Yeah, you carry that around
It’s like tryna get to nowhere”
- Bleachers, Don’t Go Dark on Me
At the beginning of each year, I try to set an intention for the year to focus on. It’s not a resolution or a list, but a word or idea I can keep in mind when making decisions. At the end of the year, I like to look back and ask whether that intention quietly shaped my days, or whether life threw it off track.
Last year felt like being in a boat on a lake during a storm: waves crashing unpredictably and skies shifting from bright to dark without warning. My year-end post reflected on the stark contrast between the highest joys and the lowest sorrows. It was a year of emotional whiplash. My anxiety was in full bloom for much of the year as I tried to manage those extremes. Like carrying a chip on my shoulder, I was constantly bracing myself for what might come next.
This year, I started with two intentions: joy and getting to know my anxiety better. Looking back now, I think I honored both.
After the sorrow of last year, seeking joy wasn’t about grand trips or forced positivity. It meant saying yes to things that sounded fun or silly. It meant letting myself float for a while instead of scanning the horizon for storms. I did cannonballs with my son in the pool on vacation. I danced my heart out at the Lorde concert. I went hiking by myself. I sat in a hot tub overlooking Rainy Lake on a work trip. I laughed so hard I cried last weekend at a dinner out with friends. Being present in those moments felt like a perfect lake day, where my body could relax and remember what ease feels like.
At the same time, I worked on getting to know my anxiety instead of pretending it wasn’t there. I’ve learned that anxiety isn’t something I can out-swim or dive beneath. For me, it’s like a ripple that starts small and spreads across the surface. I physically feel it in my body like a wave. It’s easy to dismiss at first, but impossible to ignore if I don’t acknowledge it. The more I tried to ignore it in the past, the more the waves grew and didn’t let up.
This year, I tried something different. I listened. I paid attention to when it showed up and what it actually needed in those moments. Sometimes it needed rest. Sometimes reassurance. Sometimes boundaries. By treating it less like an enemy and more like a companion, it felt less like an anchor. It felt lighter on my shoulder. The waves calmed. After all, it is a part of me that is trying to protect me.
As this year closes, I’m struck by how these two intentions worked together. Joy didn’t eliminate anxiety, and understanding my anxiety didn’t dampen my joy. Instead, they balanced each other like sunlight glinting on ripples. Joy reminded me to be present in the light moments. Anxiety reminded me to listen to myself instead of armoring up. Overall, it was a good year.
Cheers to a new year, with new experiences and new lessons to learn.
Moriya Rufer is a lake biologist with 20 years experience working with and loving lakes in northern Minnesota.
Leave a Reply