5 Things I Learned This Year

...and lots I'm still working on

The other day I truly couldn’t remember how old I was. Where had the time gone? And how much had passed? I eventually resorted to math.

Time is weird. No matter how we try to measure it, condense it, schedule the living daylights out of it, it never fully makes sense. Try as I might to grasp it, the closest I come is a jumble of faces, stories, and memories, many of which feel like they could have happened yesterday.

My robots tell me that it is December and that 2023 is just around the corner, which seems as good a time as any to reflect. To that end, here are five things I learned this year, recorded in the hope that I may remember them in the days to come.

1. Everything has a season.
Some moments — particularly the really good ones — have the tendency to fly by, while others feel as though they may last forever. They won’t, of course. Nothing will. Whether it’s joy or pain or a politician’s years in office, all things eventually make way for something new.

When I was younger, I sometimes found myself feeling envious of someone’s relationship (that has since ended) or company (that has since shuttered) or some other circumstance that is no more. I’ve also watched as friends who were down on their luck came into wonderful new opportunities.

The longer I live, the more I understand that nothing is fixed. We know this, in theory, but in practice it can be easy to forget. Especially when you’re admiring someone else’s summer while entrenched in what feels like perpetual winter. But the world is turning, even as we come to the end of this sentence.

And while we’re on the topic of seasons…

2. Embrace the off-season.
Athletes are familiar with the concept of an off-season, that time between events when one is neither training nor competing. From one angle, an off-season can be a wonderful thing. Time off. Time to rest, regroup, recuperate.

But in life, there will sometimes be wildly off off-seasons. Dry spells. Burnout. Lulls. Overwhelm. That’s to be expected. Moreover, it’s okay. After all, one cannot operate at peak performance all the time. A peak, by definition, is higher than what comes before and after it. If you were peaking all the time… it’d be a plateau.

Peaky.

3. Everyone is people.
Yes, I know it’s grammatically sound to say, “everyone is a person” or “we are all people.” But as a tagline, I rather like “everyone is people.” So that’s what I’m going with.

Ah, people. Here we are, running around with our podcasts and our TED talks and our wearable tech, counting our steps and heartbeats, as though they might help quantify our existence. Always searching for meaning, even while grasping at control.  

The thing about people is that none of us has the answers. (A point that has been confirmed and re-confirmed by everyone, always, throughout the ages.) We’re all figuring it out as we go. Especially the people who act like they’re not.

Everyone is people, including those with superstar careers and outsized budgets. Therapists and doctors and parents and children and teachers and that rude person you just encountered — all of them are people.

This brings me to the second thing about people, which is that they are imperfect and impermanent. So, please, forgive yourself. For what you said or didn’t say, did or didn’t do, know or are still figuring out.

4. Kindness costs nothing.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had doors slammed on me in recent days. (Is it just me or is door-slamming now the norm when exiting public places?) Or the number of rude encounters that left me concerned for humanity, even after 20 years in a city that’s famously rushed.

But I’ve also beheld those who held the door open a moment longer than was necessary as I shuffled toward it, who offered others their seats on the subway, who shared a knowing glance as we witnessed some other indiscretion taking place before us.

In all cases, these moments left a greater imprint on days that were not going well. And their lesson is clear: Even if you’re having the shittiest day of all time, you have the power to make someone else’s day better. That’s a power worth wielding.

Here’s some glitter, because I like it.

5. Joy may very well be the point.
I’m unabashedly stealing this one from the list of things I learned last year, as I believe it bears repeating. (And because, try as I might, I am still doing my best to internalize it.)

Last year I posited the questions — why do we exist? What are we here to learn? What are we meant to do? And shocker of all shockers, this year hasn’t yielded any of the answers.

All seasons come with their fair share of good and bad, fortune and hardship, weirdness and normalcy, change and stagnation. And while I still don’t know the inner workings behind the universe (nor do I ever expect to), I continue to believe it is our sacred duty to extract joy wherever we can. It won’t erase the ills of the world, but it can make our days more meaningful, our trials more bearable, and our hearts that much more buoyant.

So, as I did last year (and as I may well do for as long as I exist), I turn to the words of Mary Oliver: “Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

Once again, that is my wish for us all — to find joy in the most mundane and unexpected of places. Not only on special occasions. Or when you’ve done something you’ve deemed deserving. Or when everything lines up just so. Simply because you are.

There will be no regular newsletter next Sunday, December 25th, but I’ll see you in the New Year! Sending you warm wishes.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring Tarot by Caro by Quiero Caro

I got a haircut yesterday, something I tend to put off for months, which means my stylist and I had lots to catch up on.

She told me about a recent trip, which segued into trading tales of travel gone wrong. I told her about the time I left my phone at home and didn’t realize until I was boarding. Then she one-upped me with the time she left her wallet at home and didn’t notice until she’d already arrived in Paris.

“I only knew one person who lived there. So I had no choice—” here she paused for effect, “but to call my ex-husband!”

“No!” I said.

“Yes. But he was happy to see me! He told me, 'Thank you for breaking up with me!’” she laughed. “He said he was grateful that it led to where he is now.”

As she painted a picture of his idyllic life — devoted spouse, loving family, fulfilling job — it sounded like something you might see on the Ten of Cups.

The Ten of Cups is one of the most positive cards in the deck. I’ve seen it depicted as a family dancing beneath a rainbow, a community gathered around a feast, a group of friends frolicking beneath a waterfall, a collection of fantastic beasts marching in parade…

You get the idea. It’s always good.

While interpretations vary, it’s often considered a card of celebration, security, or dreams coming true. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not necessarily about any of these things. Or rather, it could be about all of them.

To me, this is a card about wholeness. And how the meaning of wholeness will shift as we move through our lives.

What does it mean to feel whole? At times, it may be synonymous with harmony. Other times, it may be something closer to acceptance. It could mean having a clear vision — of who we are, what we wish, where we’d like to go. There are no right or wrong answers. There is only what rings true for us.

With all its images of fanfare, the Ten of Cups wishes to remind us that celebration isn’t contingent upon having or getting everything we want. Sometimes, it is most needed when things haven’t been going our way. Or when the cause for ceremony isn’t as obvious.

Whether you’re in the mood to dance, nap, or unleash a primal scream, the Ten of Cups asks that you find something to cheer for. No matter how random, no matter how small. A sunset. A delicious fry. A World Cup team. A holiday song. That the pigeon safely crossed the street.

At its heart, celebration is really about embracing something. A day, a cause, a feeling. Even just a moment.

As the final numbered card of its suit, the Ten of Cups denotes a conclusion. You’ve reached the end of a chapter, a phase, a story, a year. Much has happened. You’ve come a long way. Miles — literal or metaphorical — have been traversed. But there is plenty written on the next page.

Conclusions are different than endings. They’re about culmination. One storyline may be wrapping up. The calendar may require changing. But life continues. Life evolves. As does our relationship to wholeness.

The Ten of Cups asks that you both honor and celebrate this moment, as the conclusion of one phase and also as the start of a new one. And as you do, hold a little extra space for surprises.