It is Christmas Eve morning, and I'm writing from my cozy bed on a frosty morning. I've already had my two cups of coffee - in a Christmas mug, of course! - and I've been thinking about my personal universe in the quiet of the house. The gifts are wrapped, the tree is decorated, the lights are on, the groceries tucked away and awaiting transformation. Today I'll spend a big portion of the day baking, and then tonight we'll indulge in our Christmas Eve tradition of cheese fondue followed by a movie (this year, Tessa picked "Love Actually" which, though problematic, still has its charms).
Not much about this year feels traditional, and so many traditions have been lost: no Greenlake Luminaria Walk (the Pathway of Lights), no Christmas Ships at Lowman Beach or Alki, no holiday carousel or downtown gingerbread houses, no holiday parties. But other traditions endure: friends have dropped off festive cookies, we've watched holiday movies, we sent and received cards. We've driven around looking at lights. We wrapped gifts, and placed them under our tree (and setting that up is a tradition I love). I found a copy of Bing Crosby's Christmas album in a thrift store bin, and we've been listening to the wonderful crackle of a vinyl White Christmas.
I know how lucky I am. Others have it much worse.
This year of online school - as a student for Tessa, and as a teacher for me - has been challenging, painful, difficult, frustrating, limiting. But at the same time, it's been wonderful. We've had a chance to slow down, to hit the reset button.
I love the reset button.
I try to reset twice a year: once at New Year's, when everyone is doing it, and once in late August, as I prepare for the school year (the "real" new year in a teacher's life). I love vision boards (note: my vision board last year said "More Snow Days" and I am quite amused that the entire year turned into a snow day...!), journal writing, and putting the house in order (out with the old!) in preparation for new visions. (I'm not sure what it is about cleaning a closet and taking a trip to Goodwill that is so satisfying, but it is, and the empty spaces make me feel refreshed and focused.)
I've hit reset a few times in life, too. When I went to college despite my parents' ambivalence, when I left Microsoft to get my masters and become a teacher, when I became a stay at home mom, when I got divorced and re-entered the workforce, and when I became a teacher again... all of these were resets. And I'm due for another reset, I think, and I'm relishing it, planning it, savoring the prospect.
So here we are, on the cusp of a new year, and on the cusp of getting vaccinated against covid, and on the cusp of re-entry to the world of work, school, and more. The whole world will reset - in a few months, or in a year, the reset is inevitable. But what will it look like? Will it be an attempted return to normal, or will it look utterly different? Can we even plan for it, or will life surprise us (again)?
I can't predict the world, and my ability to predict my own life is limited (so much happens that is outside of the plan!), but I am so grateful for the times I hit reset in the past, and I'm excited that I get another opportunity to do so. Each time I've hit reset I've moved closer to my truth, and this will be no exception. I can't control it all, but I can control some things, and create the life that I crave.
I only have two ideas this year. Oh, I have lots of ideas really - travel, love, museums and plays, concerts, camping, hiking, snow shoeing, cabins - but I've boiled it down to two things I really care about:
1) Buy nothing new.
2) Write the book.
The details:
I have been self-medicating through online shopping. (There, I said it.) I'm not proud of this - I feel sheepish and wasteful. I haven't bought anything too expensive, but I've bought unnecessary things. I've purchased too many sundresses, too many sweaters, too many shoes. While making jewelry is a wonderful new hobby, we have so many charms that we'll never use them all - it's a bit over the top. There have been kitchen gadgets (did I really need butter warmers and a six pack of crab crackers AND seafood scissors? - don't answer, I already know!), books I still haven't read. I have enough throw blankets to cover the neighborhood. I have so many picnic things that I could host the neighborhood at the park. It's too much.
I don't need anything. My home is filled with all of the comforts: there are comfortable chairs, soft sheets, cupboards full of dishes. When I cook, I use wooden cutting boards in a variety of sizes, with just the right knife: I place things in just the right size bowls for mis en place, and enough dishes to entertain a crowd. I have the right coat for the right event. I have camping equipment, ski gear, paddle boards, and (new!) snowshoes. I work at a stand-sit desk, in an office with a good little printer, cups full of pens. The refrigerator is always stuffed. Their is a bin filled with manicure supplies - polish and emery boards, cotton pads and remover. There is a games cupboard filled with board games. There are so many books, everywhere. My closet is so stuffed that it overflows into the guest room closet.
We lack for nothing important. We are so, so lucky to have these comforts, but it strikes me that I have too many comforts, and that managing them is a slight burden, and that my guilt that I am not living my values (I really do believe in simplicity, ethically sourced items, and avoiding excess) is greater than my joy in the items themselves.
So the new idea for 2021 is to buy nothing new. The only things we will buy will be consumables (food, of course, but also batteries, light bulbs, cleaning supplies, etc.) and thrifted items. If something wears out, we'll try to replace it with something used. (I did inventory of socks and underwear, and we're all set. Not all things are better used!) Tessa and I love thrifting, so we can find fun novelty items there: I love finding some cool old vinyl, a great serving platter, a wonderful basket, or some other small treasure. My favorite bookstore (Pegasus) has used books. I get a thrill finding the perfect cashmere sweater for $10 - there is no way I'm going to spend $200 on a sweater! - and I love the idea that I'm not contributing to workers in terrible conditions making clothes for pittance wages.
I get no such thrills from Amazon, and the items are never quite right. (Realizing that the red dress was a hideous shade of semi-neon red, not a warm rich red, I was suitably punished by standing in line for a very long time at the UPS store so that I could return it. Had I been in the store, I never would have bought it - the fabric was cheap, the color was wrong. I had plenty of time to reflect upon my foolishness while in that line.)
Some of this is a wise financial decision - I've been wasteful, and my bank balance hurts when I do that. Some of this is a wise environmental decision - over consumption hurts our planet. Some of this is a wise soul decision - I am not my purchases, and when I focus my attention on Amazon.com then I'm not paying attention to what matters in my life. I can do better. I must do better!
Mostly, it's a soul decision. If I'm going to sit in front of my computer, it should be to compose a warm email to a friend. or to write my stories.
So: in 2021, I buy nothing new. Fun money can be spent on travel, or concerts, or entertaining, or plays and movies. It is a reminder to myself: I have enough. I am enough. I am focused elsewhere.
And speaking of focused elsewhere: I am focused on writing.
2) I am writing my book.
I am so sure of this. I know what I want to say, and I know why. This is the story that has been bubbling in me my whole life. This is a thing I must say. I know who the characters are, I know what they must endure, and I know the subtleties of their mistakes and their joys. It is time to bring them to life. I hope - dare I say, I believe! - that the world will want to read my story, that there is something beautiful and pure in it that will resonate with others. I hope that this will launch my writing career. (Fantasy: I work part time as a teacher. I still love teaching, but wouldn't it be extraordinary if I could do a 0.6 and get benefits and have connection, but still have time to write?!)
But it's okay if that's not what happens. I'm not writing this so I will get fame or fortune. I'm writing this because it is my soul's work to write this, so I have to do it. It is my truth, told in fiction, and I'm excited by it more than I'm nervous.
2021 is sure to be filled with surprises, some of them wonderful, some of them tragic. My beloved daughter is so unsure of her next steps, I worry for her. I don't know what the future holds for my own health, or if I will ever find the kind of love that I know exists for some people but not yet for me. I do not know if the world will reopen so that I can see Shakespeare in the Park or get on a plane or see Alicia Keys live in concert. There is a lot that I do not know.
But I know that I can write, so I'm going to write. And I know that I can focus on things bigger and better than trying to buy my happiness. I know that I'm filled with adventure, and hope, and possibility.
This year when the ball drops, I won't be there to see it, and I'm pretty sure that the fireworks will be from some other year gone by, and that my evening will be solo or with one slightly cranky teenage girl. That's okay. Next year is filled with promise, and I'm ready to keep my promises to myself and see how it changes everything.
I've hit reset before and reaped the rewards, so I know that it is within me to do it again. I can't wait for 2021!
No comments:
Post a Comment