6 Things I Learned This Year
...and plenty I'm still learning
Have you seen that tweet that says, “The fact that 2021 is already over is proof that time also flies when you are NOT having fun”? Which…yeah.
Laughed. Noted. Agreed.
Every week feels like a year, yet the last two years feel like a week. So much has happened; so much has stayed, curiously, the same.
Now there is Omicron, which sounds like a Transformer dressed as the Grinch, a most unwelcome holiday visitor. It ushers in all the same old feelings, but with a new exhaustion layered on top.
And so, I find myself trying to take stock of the positives. What have I learned? Or put another way, if I could go back two years and offer myself some guidance, what might I say? Here is where I landed:
1) You are not in control.
Perhaps more than anything, this year felt like a master class in just how little control we have over…anything, on both a global and personal front. At first — and for a long while — the knowledge that I had no control was horribly frustrating. There are so many things I wish I could fix or change or undo. But slowly, that fact became liberating. (I am still working on this.) I now understand the wisdom in taking it one day at a time. I see the value in that whole non-attachment thing, as hard as it can be to put into practice.
We don’t know what comes next. That is true in all seasons. In all weather. In all times. I cannot control the universe, so I am not going to try. This extends to the knowledge that I cannot change other people, nor can I help them if they don’t want to be helped. I can only love them, up close or from afar.
2) I am small.
Earlier this year, around the same time I was grappling with my lack of control, I developed a strange practice. Whenever I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I open up this book about Galaxies, flip to a random page, and stare. Contemplating black holes, nebulae, and red giants, I can’t help but feel insignificant, in the best possible way. I am a small creature, with big feelings, in a vast universe. I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s all relative. Perspective helps.
3) “No” is a complete sentence.
For those with a solid grasp of boundaries — including many toddlers — this may be second nature, but it was a revelation to me. “No” is a sufficient answer. You don’t have to apologize when you say it, or provide a seven paragraph explanation of why you cannot do something. You don’t have to offer some sort of consolation prize. You can just…say no.
4) Say the thing.
I used to shy away from offering words of condolence or support, or even asking how people are doing, because I was afraid my words would sound awkward or might somehow make it worse.
They won’t. It won’t. Say the thing. Don’t worry so much about the wording.
Just like no one goes home from the party and ruminates on the supposedly dumb thing you said, no one is going to focus on your word choice. They’ll only hear the intentions behind your words. Moreover, there are situations in which there is no such thing as “the right words.” There are only words — the best you can come up with — and that’s more than good enough.
5) Community is key.
I was never one for group projects. Much of my livelihood consists of sitting alone with a laptop. I love the sound of solitude, and I can be pretty lone wolf about a lot of things. And yet.
Perhaps the most well-known Ram Dass quote is, “We’re all just walking each other home.” For the longest time, it didn’t resonate with me. I’d hear it and go, “Mm, that’s nice,” picturing a bunch of people holding hands at a crosswalk. And then one day, apropos of nothing, the quote landed fully inside me. Suddenly I saw, like the duh heard round the world, he was talking about a metaphorical walk — the journey through life. Back to wherever we come from, and to where we shall return.
You don’t need to go through hard things alone. You don’t need to carry it all yourself. Ask for help. From friends, family, professionals, support groups.
One more time, so it really sinks in: Ask for help.
We are, it turns out, walking each other home. We’re holding up a mirror, reaching out a hand, teaching one another. The truth is, we’re doing all of this whether we mean to or not, so why not be mindful about it?
6) The point may very well be joy.
I recently had lunch with one of my most beloved friends, where we gave a lot of airtime to heavy shit, including the ultimate question — why do we exist? What are we here to learn? What are we meant to do?
“I’m sure I’ll change my mind about this,” she said, “But I’m starting to think that the point might be joy.”
In the play Our Town, the character Emily realizes, after death, that life’s most ordinary moments are the ones imbued with meaning. “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?”
Sometimes I’ll try to imagine that I was just deposited here from another planet, and I have no choice but to look upon our world with fresh eyes. How incredible would I find a tree? The swell of music? A chocolate chip cookie?
As I write this, the lines outside NYC’s COVID testing sites are growing ever longer, any semblance of plans is growing murkier, and if I’m being honest, joy doesn’t feel quite as accessible as doom. But I also know that even and especially in the worst of times, it is our sacred duty to extract joy wherever we may find it. To hold it close to our hearts, share it with those in our orbit, allow it to propel us forward.
As Mary Oliver wrote, “Joy is not made to be a crumb.”
That is my wish for all of us this coming year — 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 newsletter next Sunday, December 26th, as I’m taking some time to be with family and prepare new things for the coming year.
I’ll be back on January 2nd! Sending you warm wishes until then. xx
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.
The New Year is coming. And with it, endless messages — about renewal, realignment, how our efforts can be trained on “self-transformation.” The Hermit says to get ahead of all that. Before anyone tries to come at you with their pitches and pleas for betterment, take a moment to think about whatever it is that you — and only you — want.
To many, The Hermit is not the sexiest of cards. The traditional depiction is a Gandalf-esque character holding a lantern, on an epic solo quest.
As for me, I love The Hermit. Hell, I am The Hermit. Any time I’m stressed, worried, confused, restless, agitated, what have you, I go for a walk — preferably a long, meandering, solo walk, with or without something to listen to. Perhaps you are like this, too.
The Hermit knows that whatever we seek is already inside of us. But sometimes it takes some reflection in order to get in touch with it. The “journey” part doesn’t have to be so literal. Any kind of meditation, moving or otherwise, can have the same effect. Some people might find it in knitting or needlepoint or reading or singing or baking or dancing. You might find it in sitting completely still.
The Hermit is on a quest for self-knowledge, which is ironic, since they’re already more reflective and self-aware than most. But self-knowledge is an ongoing process, much like the Hermit’s journey. As long as we are alive, we are likely in some form of transition. That is to be expected, and it is more than okay.
Traditionally, the Hermit carries a lantern, a symbol of wisdom and enlightenment. It reminds me of that E.L. Doctorow quote that says, “writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Well, the same is true for any endeavor — you don’t have to swallow the whole journey just yet. You don’t have to plan out the next five years or even the next five months. Focus on what’s five feet in front of you. Focus on what the light touches, trusting that the rest will be revealed to you when it’s time.
This week’s card is a reminder that no one’s opinions need to have any bearing on your own. If you didn’t ask for feedback, then guess what? You don’t have to accept it. By all means, seek answers, wisdom, and guidance wherever you can. But remember that you already know the truth. It’s a bit like how, when it comes to making a decision, flipping a coin always yields the answer — not because of how the coin actually lands, but because of your gut reaction when you see the result.
As Emerson wrote, “There is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we shall hear the right word.” In the days ahead, practice lowly listening. The quieter you become, the more your own voice can come through.
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Oh boy I cried at this one! Beautiful.
Wow I really needed to hear all of this. I finished reading this in tears. Thank you, thank you for writing it.