It seems somehow wrong that there’s no space between one year and the next. Time moves relentlessly on from 2022 to 2023 with no break. Yet my human heart needs a pause, a break, a breath. Normally I would find that time in nature - on a hike or a walk - but I have a stress fracture that is limiting me right now. I’m sure there is invitation in my limitation. I’m having to view 2022 through the lens of pen and paper instead of looking back at the trail to see where I’ve been.
I’ve used a few new things to help me create the gap I long for between looking back and moving forward:
Ten Questions: A friend shared this article that asks ten simple questions about 2022. It didn’t take long for me to sit down with my journal and respond, but I was surprised at what surfaced as important in the last year and what didn’t.
Year Compass: This takes much longer than the ten questions, but I like that it encourages me to look at both 2022 and 2023. In the very first exercise of going through important calendar events in 2022, I was shocked to see how much happened in 2022. If nothing else, it gave me grace for myself. I feel like a lot is happening because a lot is happening.
Leaving Margin: One of my favorite Jesuit newsletters quotes my favorite poet in this week’s offering. He also links to a great NYT piece about leaving some margin in our lives, as Karl Rahner recommends in the quote that started this newsletter.
We’re a few days into 2023, but I’m hanging on to the quiet spot where the years meet. Later today, I hope to tackle six questions about my past year and document the best moments of 2022. Yet I’m also looking at my January 2023 calendar and contemplating what worked for the last six months and what needs tweaking. First up: changing my phone’s do not disturb settings to run a full twelve hours. Surely twelve hours of texts, connectivity and distractions are enough?
What are you doing to mark the meeting of 2022 and 2023? I’m all ears.
Today
Today she waits with a cup of coffee beside her and a dog on her lap for the storms to arrive. She waits for the rain to echo through the room, knocking on the skylights as if it wants to come in. Today she waits in pajamas and a ponytail for dark skies and nature's command to rest. As the rain begins dancing across the roof, she welcomes today's shower so she can embrace tomorrow's sun.
May we have the grace to meet 2023’s sunshine and rain.
Love,
Shannon