Looking Back, Looking Forward
It's that time of year again
Hello friends.
Today is the new moon in Capricorn. My moon, I always feel, even though I'm a person who both believes and does not believe in astrology etc in equal measure.
What can I say? I contain multitudes.
I've struggled this past year with the 'who cares' of it all. Does anyone actually care whether I write these letters? Realistically, probably not so much. But I think they are good for me, especially in my constant attempts to distance myself from social media, so maybe that's all that really matters.
Anyway, I've decided to try and send out letters this coming year when the moons are new and full. Maybe it will help me to view time by natures clock, instead of the calendar. Or maybe not, but it feels good right now, so here we go.
The most successful resolution I ever made was the year I decided to stop saying 'sorry.'
Not refuse to apologize when an apology was truly called for, but to stop using it as a filler word the way femmes are so conditioned to do.
I taught myself to say "thank you for listening," instead of 'sorry for bothering you' when I talked to my friends. I learned to reply "Unfortunately, I'm not able to do that/meet that deadline/join that committee/whatever" without qualification or explanation at work. I learned to take up space without constantly worrying whether I was inconveniencing everyone around me simply by existing. (Or at least, outwardly showing it.)
In this process, I became hyper conscious of the pervasiveness of this five letter word, how often femmes, specifically, feel it necessary to employ it. It made me furious. More furious than I had been when I started. By the end of the year I had basically purged it from my vocabulary and it has never returned.
No other New Year's resolution or intention or guiding word or goal setting session or vision boarding has ever come close to the success of that one decision. As wary as I am of the capitalism driving goal setting and resolutions, I always start the year wanting to do better for myself. Wanting to take better care of my body, to stick more closely to my budget, to spend more time consuming art and less on my phone. And I always feel like I fail, or at least that I don't measure up to my ideals.
So how did I manage it that one year?
I was thinking about this, this past week, as I spent time with my niblings. The youngest is five, and something that came up again and again in conversation with my sister is that no one can make him do anything until he's ready. He refused potty training... until he didn't. Would not engage with early reading books... until he would.
Maybe we're all a little like that. Maybe the key to any new beginning is truly being ready.
I was ready, that year, to change how I moved through the world in that small way. I didn't just want to be the kind of person who didn't apologize as I knee jerk reaction, I decided that I already was.
What if we all gave ourselves the grace to only do new things when we're really ready? I think we know when we are and when we’re not, when we listen. When we allow ourselves to be honest.
This past year I turned 40. And what I've been thinking about the most over the course of the last twelve months is how deep my roots feel now compared to any year in the past. Not just to a place — though I have now lived in Chicago longer than I lived in the town I grew up in — but to a life, in ways I didn't expect. Ways I'm not sure I realized was possible.
I made a habit of blowing up my life in my twenties. Moved across the country, got new degrees and started entirely new careers. I burst into flame and reinvented myself from the ashes three separate times before I turned thirty.
And I always felt like, if I needed to, I could do it again.
Until now.
Oh, I know that I still technically could decide to become an astrophysicist, or get married and have a house in the suburbs with 2.5 kids. But I'm so much farther down the life path I chose than I ever was before. It would be a longer trek back to the start. It would feel so much harder to start over than it did all those times before.
My generation has joked that we won't have a mid-life crisis because we've already had a quarter-life crisis, because our whole lives have been one crisis after another, and I think there is a lot of truth to that.
I think that we've been more thoughtful about the paths we've chosen than many previous generations, so there's less of a feeling of waking up halfway through my life and wondering how on earth I got to where I am.
I don't wonder how I got here, I fought for every step. And I'm glad I did. I like my life. I like my choices. I'm proud of where I am. I'm excited to think that I have a whole second lifetime ahead of me, but without the whole puberty and not having control over what you eat for dinner thing. Another forty years to really be who I am1.
But there's also grief in the roads not taken2. The knowledge that there are things I will never experience because I chose this particular path. The knowledge that I'm not the hero of the story in the way I once imagined myself to be. The realization that some dreams never do come true, and I have to live with that.
Many people in my circle have been pulling inward these last two months. I'm one of them. After a lifetime of feeling like I have to be heard, have to be understood, that I need people to understand that I'm right... I'm just done arguing. Protecting my peace has never been more important to me.
And as I approach the new year, I am finding myself ready — really ready — to make some changes in my life that I simply wasn't before. This time I'm making a plan, taking small steps one at a time. This time it's not because of what other people think my life or my body or my career should look like, but because of how I want to feel. How I want to move through the world.
It's in the pursuit of joy, in ways that look different than before.
Part of that is keeping these things to myself, untangling external validation as much as possible. Holding on to the good in all the ways I can.
Another part is looking back, like most of the internet, it seems right now, and trying to keep this past year in that same frame of reference. Looking for the joy, the steps taken forward, even if they don't seem like steps to other people. Remembering how things felt instead of focusing on what they look like.
This year I signed with my incredible agent - a huge and hard-won milestone. We sent my book out on sub and I've been working on another that is so different from anything I've written. It's so easy to only think about all the things I hoped for that didn't happen this year, but I am so proud of the writing I've done and of the friends that have helped and cheered me on.
I have a bit of a rocky relationship with my birthday, but this year I had an amazing birthday trip with one of my favorite people in the world. It was the best way I can imagine rolling into a new decade. And then, a few months later, my whole family was together for the first time in eight years, in an incredibly beautiful place with a lot of laughter.
I learned I'm going to have a sister-in-law which I'm very excited about. I had long conversations with my niblings and played games and cuddled on couches. I've spent mornings with my cat on my lap, sipping tea and reading books.
I moved into a new apartment that (so far, knock on wood) I truly love with the kindest neighbors I've ever had and a hilarious maintenance guy who rushed over when I needed him.
I've seen old friends and made new ones. I graduated into the next cello book. I knit a whole sweater that fits me perfectly and I'm working on making more. I've had many moments at work with my teens that were meaningful to me and — I hope — to them. I've had many moments where I think I fucking love my job.
The future is uncertain and I have a lot of fear. But I've had a lot of joy this year, too. And I'm going to try to hang on to that.
I'm wishing you all the happiest holiday season, and a safe and joyous new year.
In many ways, I’m finding who I really am to be remarkably close to the 12 year old version of me. Someone who liked books and writing and music and dancing and didn’t care what other people thought. Marvelous.
I will never not be frustrated at the widespread misinterpretation of this poem. The whole point is that we never really know which path is better but we feel the need to turn our lives into an explantory narrative. This is a great analysis of the poem.