Earlier this year, I was minding my own business when I stumbled across some exciting news—the Chinese calendar predicted it would be a good year for me. And nothing stirs butterflies in your stomach quite like the promise of something good. Naturally, I clung to that hope and ran with it.
Like any eager optimist, I focused only on the bright possibilities, never pausing to consider the full journey I was stepping into—the trials, the shedding, the stripping away of everything familiar. And what a journey it turned out to be. The challenges were unlike anything I’d faced before. More than once, I caught myself wondering if there was any “good” at all in this so-called good year.
Yet, in the turbulence, something shifted. I discovered a quiet strength I didn’t know I had, a confidence that rose in waves, and a clarity in my intuition that felt brand new. My old need for hard evidence gave way to an unshakable inner knowing—as if my instincts had finally found their voice.
The Wood Snake year wasn’t the sweet, effortless season I imagined. It was a year of shedding, bleeding, grieving, and at times losing sight of hope—yet still, somehow, finding the courage to stand tall in the storm.
Now, with just four months left, I find myself hoping the year softens—that it grows lighter, gentler, kinder. And deep down, I believe it will. After all, as Robert Frost wrote: “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
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