Next
Year
“Stripped
of causes and plans
and
things to strive for,
I
have discovered everything
I
would need or ask for
is
right here—
in
flawed abundance.”
Mark
Nepo (from “The Way Under the Way”)
Entering
a new year is always filled with determined plans. January almost qualifies as
a season in the calendar—January: Clean out the closets, haul stuff to Goodwill,
remove everything out-of-date from the pantry, and please, while you’re in
there repaint the shelves that are still orange from the last owners terrible
color palette. I’ll bet you recognize that season. In the cold, grey of
January, when going outside is hardly an option, we take on projects we’ve been
putting off since—well, since last January.
This time
I’m approaching the coming year with an open mind, no expectations, no
resolutions. Just a mix of trepidation and anticipation. It’s almost as taboo
as mentioning the name of Voldemort to bring up 20…you know, the next year after
this one.
The
pandemic has taught us lessons that we didn’t really want to learn, and one of
them is: Don’t make plans. We are not in control of our lives (we never were,
to be honest) and we cannot twist fate in our direction. All we seem able to do
is take care of ourselves, mask up when the counts are rising, carry on as though
things were normal, and keep plenty of Tylenol, cough syrup, and decongestants in
the medicine cabinet. Drink vitamin C like it’s your lifeline to the future, get
a bit of exercise every day (outdoors if possible), and don’t pack yourself into
small spaces with a crowd of people you don’t know. It’s a low bar.
Oh, and
don’t lose hope—it’s what has gotten us this far, and it will carry us on. I
have learned that the inside of my house is pretty darn great and inviting friends
in small numbers to my dinner table suffices as a social life. I won’t tempt
fate—not yet. But neither will I lose faith. In the big scheme of things, this
is a blip, and we happen to be the ones alive to chronicle it. It’s not the
plague, it’s not Ebola, it’s not polio—it’s just a pain in the butt with a long
recovery. When we cross the threshold into next year, we will still be who we
are—the fortunate folks who have survived the pandemic of the 2020’s—it’s one for
the history books, and we were there.
So, for
the end of this year, and for the beginning of next, put on a hopeful face and
lean in. We’re stronger than we think. And, we have everything we need in
flawed abundance.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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