It’s A New Year And I’m Still Here
I got rained on the first day of 2021 and it felt poetic. In the way that as the rain fell on my glasses and my shoulders and my feet, all the “last year shit” was washed away. I’m learning to embrace the cool rain and the pretty views that come from unexpected showers. I’m learning to embrace the seasons of rest, and to know my worth doesn’t depend on if I get rained on in the process.
It was a tough year for everyone, on varying levels, and god knows that hasn’t changed. A day (or 5, by the time I post this) won’t change that. I’ll never preach positivity in the face of what, for many, has been devastating. Let’s learn to lean in and grieve instead. Let’s learn to lean in and wrap arms around one another and scream and cry and be okay with the mess and chaos, instead. Please, we don’t need more looking on the bright side in our world right now. We need more people willing to embrace each other’s mess and hurt and struggle without fear and flinching away. Open arms and open hearts, ready.
(Ok just a disclaimer, I am all for us being able to be grateful for the good things that may or may not have come out of our reflections on 2020. But bear with me, please — that’s not what this is about.)
It’s a new year and I’m still here.
It’s a new year and I’m still showing up.
It’s a new year and I’m still choosing to dig deeper.
It’s a new year and I’m still choosing my art.
It’s a new year and I’m still writing.
It’s a new year and I’m still passionate about deconstruction.
It’s a new year and I’m still full of ways to share my story.
It’s a new year and I’m still learning.
It’s a new year and I’m still me.
It’s a new year and I’m still… fill the blanks in for yourself.
On the first day of the year I felt the rain drench my hair as though the sky was weeping, even as it covered my glasses in droplets like tears. My toes were wet and my glasses ended up just kind of blurry (I’ve had glasses for like 10 years and still haven’t learned to always carry a glass cleaner…) and my soaked through clothes left my body feeling cool, refreshed, ready.
It was as though that rain was a gift from the heavens reminding me that last year, the last few years even, are washed away. Not just by looking at the positives, but by mourning, grieving, and being okay with standing in the chaos and fear for a while.
I was there, standing by the river. A little chilly, but very alive. Very aware of the sacred moment, the glimpse at the divine in me I had been gifted. Next time you’re faced with an unexpected shower on what was meant to be an indulgent walk, choose not to run to your car. Choose not to hide on your phone. Let your face fall back and find the ways to embrace the water on your face, and know that you are all that you ever need to be, right here.
It’s a new year and I’ll be right here.
What better time to write about practice for the new year? What better time to write about goals and dreams and creativity and magic and letting go and holding on?
As we move through these early weeks of 2021, this is what I will be sharing on. The ways we show up for ourselves this year. The ways we choose to share our stories this year. The ways we intentionally set ourselves up for goodness, for fullness, for kindness, and for delight in the wonder of our humanity. I’ve got words on rest, on intentionality, on what that looks like if you, too, have left spaces that don’t use ‘rest’ vocabulary well.
It’s a new year, it’s another day, and it’s all a freaking gift.