The holidays are finally over, and I’m so relieved. New Year’s Day is consolation after the cacophany of noise that is the holiday season.
This New Year’s morning is particularly still – there’s a considerable blanket of snow outside my New Hampshire living room window, there’s some (blessed) sun coming through the trees. The sky is blue – a gift, in a season defined by grays – and the picture seems hopeful. Tentative, and hopeful.
I’m not really a believer in resolution – it carries weight and pressure and usually some arbitrary better-ing of self that’s just one more reason to feel bad about our current state of being. But I do feel good about intention – declaring something important enough to watch carefully and maybe dipping a toe into something a little bit new or different, a small acceptance of the notion of some kind of change.
This year will bring change – you can feel that we’re on the brink of it. 2019 was prickly – so much divisiveness and bullying in our new feeds every day, the electricity in the air always so negatively charged. Shame, stress, and anxiety were commonplace themes in the therapy room (and everywhere else). It feels as though an explosion is imminent, leaving clear a space for something new. A New Year, a clean breath of cold air, a beginning, a gift.
Who and how do we intend to be in this fresh parchment of a year? As individuals, and in community with one another?
There is a quiet sense of promise in the air today. Happy New Year.