Looking Back

Time is weird. We humans have chopped the moments from sunrise to sunrise, solstice to solstice, equinox to equinox into units of measurement - a minute, an hour, a day, a month - and mostly I think it’s a good thing. How would my friends and I show up to lunch at a coordinated moment without it? While intellectually these things we call minutes and days make sense to me, I don’t experience these smaller moments of time quite so linearly. They feel much more fluid, bending and folding, stretching and contracting. A year however, I can touch. A year feels more accessible. I can trace a year in the outline of the trees in my backyard. 

This year was an eventful year. I learned that long flights are a lot easier for me than short ones. I learned I’m neurodivergent (I haven’t written about that yet, but might in the future). I read a lot of really good books - 46 of them to be exact. I spent less time on social media than I have since first joining Facebook in 2009. (I think it was 2009?) I made new friends. I visited Sedona with old friends. I went to the beach with my family. My sister and I went to two incredible concerts - Death Cab for Cutie and The Postal Service, and Pink. My niece, her daughter, came with us to Pink, going to her very first concert. I’ll never forget hearing her shriek with delight as Pink came on stage. In between the bigger moments, I snuggled with my dogs, painted the living room dark purple, and did not work up the courage to drive M’s new Jeep - it is big, loud, and intimidating. Maybe next year.

A few things I want to remember:

Sri Lanka

In June, I joined a small group for a two-week trip in Sri Lanka. My going on that trip was significant for many reasons, but mostly because I hate flying. (So much so that I haven’t been overseas since I was 16.) I hate so many things about it. I hate how many people talk loudly on their cell phones in airports. I hate how personal space is nonexistent. I hate how pilots don’t communicate with the cabin about turbulence. I hate worrying about overhead bin space. I hate making small talk with strangers (I hate it because I’m terrible at it). I hate how dudes - of any size - can’t sit in their seats without spreading their legs into me. 

I got on the plane to Sri Lanka worried that I’d get there and not be able to get on the flight to come back home. But it turns out that I’m well suited to long flights. The same skills that allowed me to run for hours without headphones made it fairly easy to be on a plane for 10-12 hours. Especially because the shades were pulled with the lights off on all of the flights and the passengers were universally more respectful - I’m guessing because it wasn’t a plane full of Americans. All of my flights had a map that showed where we were at all times, including how long we’d been flying and time remaining to our destination. It was a little detail that ended up being really helpful. 

The trip itself was magic. I met incredible people, ate fantastic food, and learned a lot about myself. To say the world opened up for me because of it is not an exaggeration. 

A sunset in Sri Lanka in June

Social media

In October 2022, I took what was meant to be a three month sabbatical from social media. Three months turned into eight months as it would be May before I returned, but the time away permanently shifted my relationship with those platforms. It was the first time that I could really see how deeply social media impacted my ability to focus. During those first three months away, I felt like I learned to read books again. I used to devour books, being the type of person who would read a few pages while waiting for the oven to preheat. Somehow I’d turned into one of those folks who couldn’t stand in line without looking at my phone. 

It took time and effort to rewire my brain, but now I’m back to reading two-to-three books at a time. For the first time, I kept track of the books I read this year. It is satisfying to look back over the list. Nowadays, I almost always have a book with me, just in case. And I no longer scroll through my phone while I wait in line. I stare off into space and let my mind wander like it’s 1995. 

As for social media itself, I’m not sure what my relationship with those platforms will look like going forward. I got back on in May-June, took a break again until September, was on for another month or so, and then fairly quickly got back off of them again. Every time I log back on, my attention span goes to shit. Every. Time. It’s a direct correlation and fascinating to witness how quickly it changes. I know I’m done with Twitter (I refuse to call it X). Elon Musk did an excellent job of ruining it, making it easy to not go back. Instagram lost its allure when they started prioritizing reels. I do not want to watch videos and I really don’t want to make them. Facebook is where my friends are (which officially means I’m an old person I think), making it the hardest to consider permanently leaving. 

The companies that own these platforms are trash, that’s no secret. But the platforms themselves aren’t all bad. They’ve connected us in ways that weren’t possible before, and offered us new opportunities to find and create community. I haven’t deleted any of my accounts, or made any long term decisions. It’ll be something I continue to think about in 2024. 

Feather season

Starting with our trip to the beach in early August and going through November, I found feathers. Lots of feathers. I found eight of them during that week at the beach - including one large, perfect pelican feather, and at least ten more after that. Some folks suggested that because I was looking for them, I found them. But it was more than that. 

As a runner for several decades and someone who loves to hike, I’ve spent a lot of time outside over the years. I always have my eyes open for interesting things. My family has visited that same beach since I was 13, I’ve never found feathers like I did this year. The ones I found here at home would literally be at my feet while I was out on a walk. It was strange and wild. 

I still don’t understand what it was all about, but a month later it continues to feel like SOMETHING. 

Books and music I loved

Books: Up to Speed (written by my good friend!) by Christine Yu, In Defense of Witches by Mona Chollet, If Women Rose Rooted by Sharon Blackie, Running While Black by Allison Mariella Désir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful by Maggie Smith, Divergent Mind by Jenara Nerenberg, On Our Best Behavior by Elise Loehnen, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard, Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön 

Music: The Record from boygenius, Stick Season from Noah Kahan, Guts from Olivia Rodrigo, First Two Pages of Frankenstein from The National (yes, I still listen to albums)

2024

I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions. (Maybe you are, and if so, I love that for you! I really do.) But sometimes I like identifying an intention, often through a word or phrase, for the coming year. I say sometimes because there have been years where that felt like too heavy of a lift. Fortunately, this season is not one of those. As I think about 2024, the word that keeps coming up is surrender.  

Mostly, I’m thinking about this as lower-case surrender, surrender in the small moments. Moments such as the other night when it was time for bed but I couldn’t get the puppies to go to the bathroom because they were too interested in something in the boxwoods. So interested that I had to collect Lola from inside one of the bushes. Pulling a 60 lb dog out of a shrub on a cold, windy winter’s night when all that I want to do is go to sleep is not my idea of a good time or even an okay time. 

As I vent-texted M, I could see that most of my frustration came from my expectations of how bedtime should go. I wasn’t able to do much with that realization in the moment. I’ve had a lot of dog-related challenges this week, including stepping in vomit early Christmas morning and cleaning up poo the next. (A dog suffering from GI issues is a messy affair.) But at least I could see it. 

So I’m going to play with surrender. I’m going to lean into the routines that anchor my days, but try not to be so attached to them. Like in the example of bedtime gone wild the other night. I’m going to practice being present with the realities of chronic illness, rather than make decisions based on how I wished things to be. For example, I often over schedule myself because of the tension between what I can do and what I want to do. 

When I was in high school, I played basketball. I didn’t enjoy the sport (of the team sports, volleyball and softball were more my jam) but it was a great way to be with friends and to stay in shape for track. I hated playing offense, but loved defense. In practice, I was often the only one who volunteered to guard Kari, one of my best friends and the most talented player on our team. Years of playing against her meant that I was very agile and quick on my feet. The way I’m thinking of surrender feels like that. It is light and responsive. Completely present. 

Next year is going to be a noisy one for all of us, with a presidential election coming up, an ongoing war in Gaza, climate change, and all of the other existential challenges that face us. While we can’t individually solve those wicked problems, we can work to create peace, friendship, and goodwill in our own little corners. I think that matters, more than we believe it does. May we all have the courage, patience, and good humor to navigate all that 2024 has in store for us. The only thing we know for sure is that things will change. They always do.