I love a new calendar page, an opportunity to start fresh, time to imagine that anything could happen. I love to feel expansive with new goals and ideas. I love a chance to dwell in the magical thinking of the new year and the feeling of possibility. Maybe this year I’ll practice piano enough to become comfortably proficient at a few songs, start a new knitting project, get better at meal planning, or double subscribers to this newsletter.
Despite a different number for the year and a new picture on the calendar, things will probably be mostly the same. There will be magical moments, awaking next to window to see sparkling stars in the cold dark sky. The beauty of a harbor nearly vanishing in the fog. There will be tiny moments, moss and mushrooms on a log, a patch of needle ice, that I might walk by without noticing or I might appreciate with awe.
There will be meals to cook, bread and cakes to bake, floors to sweep and mop. I’ll forget where and how often my husband goes on his regular travels and fail at packing all of the right gear when we go ice skating or to the beach. We’ll go out to dinner as a family and I’ll be shocked that enjoyed themselves and their food. We’ll drive to my mom’s house and I’ll be overwhelmed by all of the fighting in the back seat. There will be deep frustration, excitement, and hopefully feelings of joy. Daily life will be okay, hopeful, hard, always punctuated by moments that are even more. More perfect and beautiful, more stressful. Life is over and over again.
The headlines will be a constant refrain of death, destruction, and despair. I’m an optimist and an idealist and I would love to wake up to “The world comes together to stop climate change, saving millions of lives and species.” But the news will focus on economic forecasts, elections, and disaster after disaster. I will continually feel terrible about the state of the world, want to do more to change it, and probably do about the same as I’ve done most years.
The new year won’t bring a lightning bolt of change and I hope it won’t bring an earthquake of upheaval, but I feel pessimistic and boring suggesting that the new year means nothing. It’s true that every day, every moment even, is a chance to begin anew but I like taking time to dwell in the possibilities that the fresh start feeling of January brings. With each day, week, and month as a repetitive cycle, I appreciate a little break to shift my perspective.
At the same time, I realize that we celebrate and glorify the big life moments but the tiny magic and glimpses of beauty around us can easily get lost. The phase of the moon, the angle of the sun rise compared to my east facing front door. When the crocuses sprout, if the pond ever freezes. The new year, and every year, is a balance of finding presence in the repetitive parts of life and making time and space to appreciate the different possibilities.
Warmly,
Anna
P.S. A couple of posts about the new year that I enjoyed:
Beautifully said and all so true. Thanks for putting so many of our thoughts into heartfelt words. Paying attention and caring for the things directly in our lives helps to put the nightmares of the world in perspective, improving one’s immediate surroundings ❤️