IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR when I start seeing a lot of ‘One Word’ posts. “What’s your word for 2016?” I began to think about it. (Of course, being a leap year, there are 366 days – do we take a day off?!)
My word last year was ‘perspective’ and I found it both helpful and descriptive. I had to learn to keep things in the right place, to draw boundaries, not to let things bleed over into other areas of life.
I’d had some ideas for this year. I thought, initially, it would be ‘generosity’. There were good reasons for this.
But then something odd happened.
Rather than me choosing a word, a word presented itself. It wasn’t one I would choose. It didn’t feel very ‘me’. But it rapped on my head – donk, donk – beamed in a cheeky fashion (if words could beam, of course) and said ‘Me! Choose me!’
I looked at the word, puzzled by it. It felt a bit flamboyant. It felt a little off-key.
Not that it isn’t a very nice word – it is a very nice word – but when you deal with tiredness at the level I sometimes do you tend to go with a rather different word.
But ‘survive’ wasn’t hammering on my skull and doing a jubilant dance at the thought of itself.
Nope. It only rhymes with survive.
I sighed. It felt a bit over-confident, this word, to claim it for myself. It felt – horrors! – everso slightly unBritish.
But there it was. And here it is. There isn’t much reasoning behind the choice. There are things I want to address in myself this year, but they don’t correlate, not directly. But perhaps in addressing these things I’ll come closer to what this word claims, what it desires, what it seeks with its urgent fire.
The word chose me this year. It’s rather elated about it.
The word is thrive.