I know, I know it's not like it was; that don't mean I'm just hangin' it up.

-

Hello. 

I hope, if you’re reading this, these words are finding you well.  As I sit in my kitchen writing this, it is January 2, 2019.  January 2nd, 2019 marks the end of the holiday season.  Today is the day that everyone goes back to work, back to school, back to normal.  Everything deflates rather quickly starting today, especially after all of the  merriment and celebration in December.  We spend the last days of December with a champagne flute in hand, celebrating all of what has happened in the last twelve months and swearing to do better in the next twelve.  We spend the light of the first day of the year recovering from all of our celebration, and vowing that our promises were legitimate, and that we will follow through on them.  And then it’s over, and it’s overcast, and alarms go off before the sun rises, and it is time to get back to life.  

I brought in 2019 in a beautiful way.  I was surrounded by friends in a room pounding with music and laughter.  I kissed my best friend on her cheek, and she kissed me on my cheek, and I was so happy.  It was the best beginning to a year I’ve ever had, but more importantly, it was a joyful night that I got to spend with my friends.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with the new year.  I go back and forth between not caring about it and being obsessed and incredibly saddened by it — every year.  I think that the former is actually a response to the latter, but whatever the case may be, when I haven’t been in denial about the validity of the calendar year, I’ve been absolutely miserable during the space between December and January.

But this year, I was so, incredibly happy (and very glittery) as the calendar changed from 2018 to 2019.  However, I don’t think it matters.  

Please don’t mistake me; I’m not being ungrateful.  I’m thrilled to have had such a fantastic evening.  What I’m not convinced matters is the fact that it was the beginning of another year.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: years don’t matter.

The last 365 (plus a few) days have been unremarkable.  I have had very low lows and very high highs in my life, but this past year hasn’t held many of them.  Those of you who know me well have seen bad days and good days, but I’ve felt overall very in-between over the last twelve months.  I’m not complaining, and I’m certainly grateful for the things that happened and that I was able to do this last year, but I can still observe that I went into 2018 with expectations that the year did not meet.  

2017 had been a year with outright eras — some of the highest highs and the lowest lows I’ve ever had, and I thought that the trend would continue.  I assumed that since I dubbed 2017 both the worst and the best year of my life, 2018 would be full of mountains and valleys.  The fact that it wasn’t, that it felt so in-between, made it all the more trying and challenging.  This year was long for its uneventfulness, but I had wanted it to be so much more.

And that is why it doesn’t matter that my beautiful, sparkly, laughter-filled night was December 31, 2018.  A year is a man-defined period of time that convinces us (when it’s cold and we already feel kind of like we’ll never see the sun again, and maybe we’re  little hopeless because of it) that we need to start over, make resolutions to change ourselves.  And while there is plenty to say about the importance of agency and changing one’s life, I think that it’s more important to note that sometimes we’re not in control of what happens with our resolutions and our “best years yet.”

I assumed that since I was starting 2018 abroad, I was entering my second decade of life, and I had the most amazing and loving friendships, it would be a significant year.  And it wasn’t.  There were significant days, significant moments, significant conversations, but it was not a seminal year.  It was just the space in between two Januaries, occupied by love and sadness and laughter in ordinary proportions.  Time is time, and we can vow to make it meaningful, but sometimes it’s only meaningful when we forget to vow.  

I've included a few photos from this unremarkable year below.  These were photos I took that I barely remember, but that brought me joy when I took them.  They're from Wednesdays and boring days and quiet moments.  They could be from 2018, or they could be from any other moment.  They have nothing to do with resolutions or life-altering events.  They're just moments that happened to me kind of recently.  

Blessed day to anyone who has read this gibberish to the end.  I wish you luck with your vows and resolutions in 2019, but more-so, I wish you moments of joy and sunlight for the rest of your life.

Much love,
Josefa












Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

On Patience

-
There will be very few occasions in life so perfectly timed that there will be no waiting involved.   Catching a train, a play beginning, finding a soul mate — these are all events which often require some patience.   “Patience is a virtue.” Cliché as it may be, the above phrase has occupied a rather large piece of my consciousness for the past few months.   An enormous compliment came from my course advisor one morning last semester when I mentioned my preoccupation with patience, and she told me that it didn’t seem like I much needed the reminder.   But I have needed the reminder, recently more than usual.   Studying abroad, being physically so far away from so much of what I love, was a trial.   It bred a nasty sort of insecurity inside my mind, one that was unreasonable, nonsensical, unkind.   I’d find myself chanting silently that patience is a virtue, patience, virtue, patience, virtue.   Be patient with others, and if that...
Read more

Home

-
Since I was a very small child, the refrain that plays in my head and on my lips when I am heartily distressed goes, “I want to go home,” regardless of where I might be.   I can’t imagine what it must have been like to parent me when I was little, when I might be in my own bedroom, surrounded by my own toys and clothes, and to hear me wailing about wanting to go home.   Where did that little girl think that home was?   Why didn’t she feel she was there yet?   Early last week, some time in the space between Monday morning and Wednesday afternoon, I was walking the two blocks between my residence hall and my car, a little before 7 AM, and I was thinking about all of the work that goes into teaching.   As I walked and thought, I began to cry from the weight of the profession I am so excited to enter, speaking the words aloud that I’ve been whining since I was little: “I want to go home.” That feels like a lifetime ago.   Wednesday night, we found out that...
Read more

Mother's Day

-
Image
My mom and I have a joke that I inherited all of the negative qualities from both of my parents.   My mom’s teeth, my dad’s feet, and so on, and so forth.   Sometimes, I imagine, it can feel that way to most of us.   As we grow, we begin to see reflections of the people who raised us when we look in the mirror, and for some of us that can be scary.   As children of parents, we have front-row seats to some high highs and some low lows.   Though I cannot speak from experience, what I know of parenting is that it is hard.   I was recently talking with a friend, and we came to the conclusion that it’s probably impossible to bring a childhood all the way to adulthood without leaving it with some amount of trauma (not that we don't try).   It can be frightening to see ourselves grow toward some of the ends that resulted in who we are.   It’s a cycle that makes more sense than any of us care to admit, and the realization of which can leave us winded...
Read more