Ink and Vein

I write the newsletter for the indie bookstore where I work, and as I penned the message for this month, I realized I want to share it here, too. I’ve wanted to say something about the passage of time, but have only just been able to put the thoughts into words.

The seed is in the ground.
Now may we rest in hope
While darkness does its work.
               Wendell Berry, from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems, 1979-1997

…Today I want   
to resolve nothing.

I only want to walk
a little longer in the cold

blessing of the rain,   
and lift my face to it.

                                                                           Kim Addonizio, “New Year’s Day” 

The Sangre de Cristo mountains are veiled in grey cloud this morning, as I look out my window and write these words. It feels like I live smack in the middle of the Valley, Sangres to the east, San Juans to the west, and miles of flat, agricultural land stretching out in every direction. Snow fall from a couple days ago still speckles the dirt roads and fields of scrub brush and the temperature on my weather app makes me want to snuggle down under my blankets and pretend my alarm didn’t sound hours ago.

It’s a new year, and, after the rush of the holiday season, a rhythm of life isn’t forthcoming for me. So many use the new year to set resolutions, to decide to remake themselves with the change in number on the calendar.  “New Year, New Me!” posts flood our social media feeds, and the advertisements shift from decadent foods and expensive electronics to diet advice, exercise plans, and the promise that you, too, can have the body of your dreams.

I find the rush of new year’s resolutions overwhelming, and also saddening. The world may make it difficult to feel so, but the types of changes we focus on at the new year are rarely those that will mend our hearts.  

It is alluring, to think that changing our clothing size will change our lives. It is alluring, too, to think that the change in number is magic, that it wields the power to transform us and enable us to make all the changes we didn’t make during the previous year. 

The timing is all wrong, for me. 

We’re still in deep winter. We’re still in the darker hours, though the days are lengthening. Much of the natural world is still resting, and this time of the year feels good for dreaming, for thinking, for feeling. It is a time when we want to isolate, to shield ourselves in our homes against the cold weather.

It is a time, for me, when I want to deepen connection, when I want to sit for hours with a friend or a crush and talk about all the small and large details of life that make us who we are. I want to be under the dark night sky, face frozen and heart warm as I marvel that, among the beauty of the stars, in the vastness of the universe, I am here, right now, with another human, completely unique from all others, and that we managed to meet, to connect, in this moment in time. 

For me, it is not a time for dramatic change, but a time to immerse myself in curiosity, and to see what emerges, slowly, with the gradual lengthening of the days. 

As I reflect on finding my rhythm this time of year, that, then, is my resolution, and my wish for you: embrace curiosity and seek connection.