I suppose it never really occurred to me that 2016 wasn't supposed to be my best year.
Maybe I'm an optimist, or perhaps it's something a little darker; a constant one-upmanship we are driven by daily as if our past selves are our present selves' competitors. Because what's the point in moving if you're not moving forward, right? It's funny how we read back to ourselves a narrative that's a millisecond ahead of our daily lives, trying to piece together what it all means so we might, too, be able to discern meaningful shapes in the mist of a foggy future.
I'd forgotten it was simpler than that.