New year's ruminations
The last days of the year are for embracing ambiguity.
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There’s something special about the quiet days between December 25 and January 1, when the Christmas gifts have been unwrapped and the New Year’s resolutions have yet to be written. There’s a stillness in the air that brims with possibility. Sandwiched between two holidays that represent renewal and rejuvenation, these days are a time for their counterparts: reflection and rumination.
During this brief window, I often conduct an informal “state of the self.” It involves zooming out from the day-to-day minutiae to view the big-picture: How do I spend my time? What projects am I involved in, both material and spiritual? What values am I furthering, explicitly or implicitly? What do my daily decisions, activities, and habits reveal about me? Do I like what I see?
The way I churned out these questions suggests a systematic approach to answering them — maybe a numbered list or point-by-point self-interrogation. And while I have been known to organize my ideas like mommy bloggers organize their pantries (label-makers ftw), lately I’ve found that big questions like these demand a more … abstract … approach.
On a solitary walk, the scent of burning firewood brings back a childhood memory. In my office, the rhythmic hum of our cats’ water fountain evokes a familiar feeling. On a long drive, a broken street sign inspires a surprising connection. In moments like these, what I value and what I want reveal themselves naturally, no clinical extraction required.
“We don't need other worlds. We need a mirror.”
Art can serve a similar purpose. Returning to an old collage series has me digging into unfamiliar materials, cutting out individual elements that resonate, dis-assembling and reassembling them into something that feels satisfying or new. These are contemplative acts, and their ambiguity is charged with personal meaning. Reviewing the result of them reflects what concerns, troubles, amuses, motivates, and inspires me in a way that no numbered list can.
In the 1972 sci-fi movie “Solaris,” a scientist on a space station hovering above an alien — and alienating — planet says: “We don't need other worlds. We need a mirror.” He was getting at the idea that when we venture into the unknown, we discover parts of ourselves reflected in that which we explore.
This observation seems especially fitting at this time of year, the cusp of the unrealized future. When everything is possible, only one thing is certain: What we explore will explore us too, shaping who we become.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the more standard end-of-year tasks I’m working on:
Downloading and organizing years-worth of iPad and cell-phone photos (TEDIOUS)
Subjecting myself to the regularly scheduled blood test that I’ve been regularly avoiding for three months (UNCOMFORTABLE)
Replacing our cookware, clothing, bathing, and cleaning products with less toxic alternatives (EXPENSIVE)
Determining whether I’m ready to take this newsletter to the next level by posting at standard times and at regular intervals (DAUNTING)
Between the presents and the predictions, the wrapping paper and the confetti, in these magic-and-madness-tinged hours between past and future: What are you up to? What’s on your mind?
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"What we explore will explore us too, shaping who we become." Me likey.
I feel deeply drained at the moment from too much socializing, and along with it, too much wine. Mind you, as a classic introvert, it doesn't take much socializing to drain me. I have invested in a week alone in an Airbnb here in my own city, from January 2nd - 9th. During that time I hope to recharge, and hopefully also gain some perspective on how I want to move forward in 2025. I've started compiling a list of all the things I plan to think about, including but not restricted to my artwork and creative practice, artist retreats, various lingering projects, my Substack newsletter, how to bring in more money, how to re-establish a meditation practice, how to tend to my nervous system, plus how I want to approach an upcoming in-person journaling workshop I'll be giving. You know, NOTHING MUCH.