Maybe it’s because my birthday comes so close to the start of the new year, but there’s just something about turning a year older that makes me reflect on the past year. I like that final glance backwards before moving forwards. A proverbial looking at the sunset in the rearview mirror, if you will. (Apparently, I even wrote about it in 2016!)

So here, in no particular order, are the 5 lessons I learned in 2024:

1. “Where will you be in 5 years?” is a useless question. If you had told me in 2019 that in 2024 I would leave the company I had worked at for nearly 20 years, I would tell you that doesn’t seem quite right. If you then told me that I would leave a church where I had found community and healing to be a part of a new church plant, I would say that you must be talking about a different Brandy. And then if you told me that both Mike and I would be seminary students, I would have rolled on the floor laughing. Yet, all those things happened in 2024. This year I experienced so much change. Much of it was tinged with grief. Some of it was freeing. Some of it was terrifying. And every bit of it needed to happen.
2. Running towards something is so much better than running away from something. There have been so many seasons of my life when I have been tempted to run away from things — jobs, relationships, conflict. This was a year filled with running towards things. It felt different. Instead of fear, there was hope. Instead of exhaustion, I found energy.
3. Make decisions from love and not fear. This is very closely connected to #2, but a very wise person told me this year that I needed to make decisions from a place of love, not fear. That has stuck with me all year, and there have been so many times that I teetered on the edge of a decision and asked myself that question. I have made a lot of decisions out of fear in my life — fear of abandonment, fear of loss, fear of scarcity. This year, I tried to make as many decisions as I could out of love — love for others, love for my family and love for self.
4. Finding “your people” is life-changing. I feel like this year was one of me really settling into community. I’m married to someone who knows and loves me. I have friends in my life who feel like family. I have a writing group that feels like a salve for my soul. I have peers in my doctoral program who I connected with quickly and deeply. I am surrounded by a church family who cares about loving others well. I have maintained relationships even as I have left jobs and places of worship. It’s not always been easy. But it has always been rich and rewarding.
5. Hold your hopes in open hands. This one kind of sums up everything else. This year has been one where dreams deferred have finally come to fruition — but rarely in the ways that I would have expected. The details are still tender, but there has been a lot of healing of wounds, and a lot of imagination for how God is at work. The stories are still unfolding. I’m just trying to remember that holiness and creativity are deeply intertwined.

As I step into 45, I’m excited for what this next year holds. I pray my sacred imagination can keep up!

I have a little secret for you. I hate feeling out of control.

But did you hear that a few months ago I launched my freelance writing career? And guess who has very little control over things like workload and what clients decide to work with you and when that work comes?

That’s right! Freelance writers!

When I worked as an editorial manager, I would always tell my team, “control the controllable.” So a few weeks ago, I decided that one thing I could control, when I’m not politely pestering potential clients, was how I’m keeping my creative spirit alive. About a year ago I was introduced to the idea of artist dates, solo outings that “spark whimsy.” So this week, I decided to venture out east to a farm stand. Farmer’s markets are one of my favorite things. I love wandering the aisles, carefully choosing perfectly ripe tomatoes and freshly baked bread.

On the drive out I took in the wide open plains of eastern Colorado Springs, the bright blue sky meeting the dusty fields on the horizon. I parked in a large gravel lot, grabbed a basket and browsed for whimsy.

I grabbed handfuls of tiny red tomatoes labeled “flavor bombs.” I put six ears of corn in my basket, already shucked because I’m lazy. I picked up a bouquet of basil, tied with a rough piece of twine. A bag of handmade pasta flavored with sun-dried tomatoes and garlic. I placed two waxy zucchini in last, with plans of putting them in a loaf of zucchini bread, robbing them of nutrition but gifting them chocolate chips.

As I drove home, the smell of the basil filled the car. And I decided that I would make a meal with my bounty. And — this is crucial — I wasn’t going to use a recipe.

You must know, I am a recipe gal. I love to bake, and baking is precise. I have not one, but two baking scales. Two sets of measuring cups. Three sets of measuring spoons. More liquid measuring cups than I can even count. So this idea of cooking without a recipe was pure WHIMSY!

But I felt this deep longing to lay down control. In every area of my life I felt like I was wrestling for control, meaning, understanding, answers. Why not let dinner be free of the wrestle.

Tonight was the group loss of control dinner. I marinated the chicken in tangy balsamic and dijon, sweet honey and brown sugar. I blended handfuls of basil with fresh lemon juice and olive oil — the good kind in the metal container. I cut the corn off of the cob and sautéed it with shallots, garlic and bacon. I boiled the pasta, saving some of the starchy water for the end.

I tasted and sniffed and tossed in red pepper flakes. I stirred, splashed in a bit of pasta water, stirred again. The kosher salt I sprinkled on at the end stuck to my fingers, sticky with lemon juice and basil.

It was out of control. It was delicious.

Hey, look at me! I have no idea what I’m doing!

Nearly six weeks ago, I closed the door on a nearly 18-year career as a writer at a non-profit. In many ways, it was my dream job. I had the privilege of traveling across the globe, meeting amazing people and delivering their stories to hundreds of thousands of supporters. My eyes were opened to the plight of those in poverty, and my heart still bears a million microscopic scars of understanding.

But, it was time to move on. I had felt unsettled for months. I knew that things at work were changing, and it felt like the right time to launch my own new version. Brandy 2.0.

For a month, I made the very intentional decision to rest and recover. I caught up with friends. I did a TON of reading. But in the back of my mind, I heard this hateful little whisper.

“What are you DOING?” it asked. “What is your PURPOSE.”

I have been working full-time without a break of more than two weeks for more than 21 years. As a single person, work was my identity. Even as a married woman, work was still the thing that defined me. Gave me a reason to get up in the morning. My job gave me worth. Value. A purpose.

I told myself that after my month off, I would jump head-first into freelance writing. I’ve wanted to do this for years and am excited to finally explore this new career. But building a client base is a slow, steady process.

That voice got louder. I wasn’t earning my keep. Wasn’t helping to support our household. To be clear, nobody outside of that voice in my head was telling me that. But man, was it a loud voice.

I decided I should cook more. Clean more. My husband would come home and I would rattle off a list of all of the chores I had done that day. He was grateful but confused. I had been a mediocre housecleaner for the past five years. He certainly didn’t marry me because of how well I mopped the floors.

But now I cleaned like a mad woman. “See!” I shouted, “I am valuable!” Only, he never thought I wasn’t valuable.

Tonight, I discussed this very topic with our counselor. She said, “How old is the part of you that’s saying that?”

I laughed out loud. I was fully in the “Hey, look at me!” part of myself. The little girl who wanted attention, who stood and waved her arms and begged people to notice her.

On the drive home tonight, I thought about my plan for the next several months—a time of uncertainty and more waiting than I am comfortable with. I wondered, how can I give shape, instead of purpose, to my days? I don’t do well wandering the house, eyes glazed and hair unbrushed. But I also need to learn to live without the black-and-white task lists that give me a scorecard for the day.

So, I will keep cleaning the house, but make it less about earning my keep and more about caring for the home we live in. I will keep connecting with friends, but I will also start to get comfortable connecting with myself. I will go on solo artist dates and long walks, and hopefully, I will write about them here.

Because I am a writer. Whether I’m getting a paycheck for it or not!