Let me begin with this assertion ā 2023 was good with me.
If we are recounting favourite parts: I got better at being an aunt to my twin nieces, I thoroughly enjoyed the handful of friendships Iāve chosen for myself, I traveled more than I ever have.Ā
After too many years of failed attempts, I finally found a therapist I was able to speak with. I took up life-changing movement practices, further healing a mind-body connection that had severed in my teens.Ā
I hosted workshops, began painting, and even shared a cute new zine that changed me in its making. I found and let go of communities, rekindled old friendships, and connected with writers and creators I love over my work.
And of course, I have been here each month, with you.Ā
Now that weāve gotten that out of the way, I must tell you what Iāve actually been thinking about all January long ā Iāve been thinking of the hundreds of times that 2023 was a tough, tough year.Ā
Like that time in May, when I ran into an almost-but-not-quite from a decade ago. Although we had known each other across a spectrum of relations for years, he now looked at me with vacant eyes reserved for uninteresting strangers. When reminded of my name, he mumbled, āSoumya? Soumya who?ā ā My God, that sucked.
Or that time in September, when my nieces asked me why I didnāt pray to their God. I wondered how to tell them my answer. That there are only so many times you can feel the grit and grime of saving your own life before you realize that your living has to be your prayer and your life, your God. I couldnāt say this to five-year-olds, though. So in response to their big and important question, I shrugged.
Then there was the day I attempted to colour my hair pink, and the day I tried colouring it green. Although both these days happened in the span of a week, the only colour that emerged from all that mixing and dabbing and washing was brown. I am not sure what went wrong (less bleach? No toning shampoo?), but that sore disappointment lingered.Ā
The thing is, I wanted to dye my hair on the week leading up to my birthday. It was when the doctors told us that my uncle who had stage 4 prostate cancer didnāt have much time left. It felt pertinent to get my hair colour right because having bright hair would be my only beam of light during this week earmarked for celebration. But I couldnāt nail it. And my uncle was taken off the ventilator on my birthday.
Now see, when youāve just lost someone, every rash, fever, and ache your body encounters is a symptom already too late, a sign that you too may not make it. So in October, when I started to experience a mysterious cluster of symptoms, I threw all my medical anxiety to the wind (okay, I begrudgingly placed it down with much help from my therapist) and did what I had to. After months of scampering in and out of hospitals, I discovered that I am not dying any more than most people are. But the news wasnāt all great either.Ā
The year had other kinds of anxieties too. These resulted in voicenotes I recorded that I didnāt send, letters I tore up halfway through writing, and texts that got backspaced into oblivion. There were invitations I could not respond to, words that arrived too late.Ā
On Christmas day, I tested positive for Covid.
~
I write all this to say that while 2023 was an abundant year, it was also a challenging one.Ā
This duality felt confusing at first. But slowly, Iāve been coming to terms with the knowledge that good years can be filled with arduous periods too.Ā
Because our human condition is tender to touch, quick to change form. And to be in constant contact with life means that even through the best of it, there will be pain.
There will be heaviness, loneliness, and sickness. There will be dissatisfaction in moments of profound beauty. There will be ravenous wants and wild unhappinesses that need to be dragged by the leash and taken for walks.Ā
There will be days when every meal is an experiment and they all fail. There will be knotted nights when we just have to call it and go to bed, because some truths take time to unravel. There will be stretches when we want the toughness to end, when we are afraid it will wear us out before we get to its end.Ā
Too often, we will wish we were less ourselves and more someone else. Weāll have to reel ourselves in when we tip over that thin line between effort and performance. To call ourselves out when we try too hard to to prove our worth, to control othersā perceptions of us, to win love, to win at love.
We will fidget when we need to be still and when itās time to get moving, we will hold on to the familiar a little too long.
Weāll keep forgetting that we cannot take away the struggles of those we love.Ā
There will be selves and realities we let go of to grow, and an angry grief will take over each time we ask ourselves if it was worth it. Because as much as it will be, it will also not.Ā
All this and more will happen in the best of years. We will thrash against the current of life, over and over and over again, until we find a way to turn around and ride the tide. Iāve been learning that.
~
So my wish for us in 2024 is not merely a happy new year. My wish is: That we have the stamina for hope and agility for nuance. The tenacity for our present and grace for endless allowances.
I wish we keep finding that sacred space between grief and love, mourning and celebration.
I wish that when we are shriveling in the pit of despair, we turn away from the smallness of questions and embrace the largest answers in our world ā the sky, oceans, leaves. I wish we remember that we are nature.
Most importantly, I wish for us an unaltered gaze, one that is stolidly oriented towards the open promise of better, brighter things.Ā
Hereās hoping. š„
š
All my love,
Soumya
Intention-setting inspiration šŖ
Katie Dalebout suggests writing āmoreā and ālessā on two sides of a sheet and filling them in. I canāt wait to try this idea.
Speaking of more and less, realest therapist on the block, John Kim, shares an excellent list of mores and lesses that we can all apply.
My own process is needlessly elaborate and a WIP. Someday, when I pare it down to the essentials, I will tell you more about it. Until then, here are my intentions from last year which
was so kind to share, and my intentions for this year:
Recommended reads š
I got divorced but my family is still whole ā a gorgeous piece by Maggie Smith
āGrief is proof of love. So is gratitude. When we repress or fight our grief, it becomes harder to feel gratitude because both arise from vulnerability.ā ā Reema Zaman on heartbreak, grief, and gratitude.
Gift-giving as a form of care-giving
A curcial character trait for happiness
The Bench ā a poem by Mary Ruefle that I recently fell in love with
Jam šµ
Thank you for reading! š
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