I don’t think I would.

There are years I’d love to visit again.

However, I wouldn’t want to relive them.

I’d love another afternoon with people who aren’t here anymore.

I’d love to see my kids little again.

I’d love to revisit moments I didn’t realize were important until years later.

Still, reliving an entire year means taking everything that came with it.

And every shitty year eventually dragged me toward this one.

The addiction did.

The failed relationships did.

The mistakes, losses, adventures, meetings, wrong turns, and spectacularly stupid decisions did too.

None of those things were necessarily wasted.

Instead, they became part of the soil I’m growing in today.

Besides, I spent enough of my life looking backward.

Recovery has taught me to pay attention to what’s actually happening while I’m fucking here.

So, I wouldn’t relive a year.

I’d visit a few days.

I’d hug some people longer.

I’d notice more.

Then I’d come home.

Because somehow, after everything, I actually like where the trail has brought me.