The sense of nothing

Let’s not write a blog about the new year. Let’s not talk about how I have grand goals of being sober for the year. Let’s not tell the audience how we are committing ourselves back to God. How we swear we will no longer hit the snooze button when the alarm clock goes off. Let’s not spoil the good parts. Let’s imagine how good my life could be if I committed myself to my art in such a way that I couldn’t imagine having a TV on. Imagine how great it all could be if I was consistent not only in theory but in practice. Don’t give away the secret that the whole time you have been the one pushing the boulder up the hill. I could’ve changed all of this (waves hands around) any time during the span of the 365 days given during the year. However, I like arriving a little bit slower to myself. I like a 12 course meal with tiny plates and an obscene amount of candles. I want someone in the background to be singing an aria as I waltz around trying to make a decision. Because what are choices really? An icicle hanging from the roof melting. No matter, there is no rush, unless it’s truly life or death but soon decide you are paying for this ride.

There’s a phrase that floats around a lot, “get back to your former self.” I wonder why anyone would want to do that? Why return back when there is so much ahead. Every time the ocean kisses the shore, it returns to the shoreline changed. The ocean takes and gives. I stare at her and wonder if she’s waiting for me to give a little bit more.

There was a moment during the Christmas break when we all went to the mall as a family. My sister, mom and I walked around the stores doing multiple loops like long distance runners. My dad followed behind holding jackets and looking at his phone. We all haven’t been in the same space in years. My mother shops in a flurry of color. She pulls items off the rack saying, “this looks like you,” pushing every item into my open arms. I watch my sister smelling all the candles while rocking her baby who was nuzzled into her chest. My dad captivating all of the cashiers in a story, a girl dad in the wild. Being in the mall together felt stepping on a rollercoaster and heading through a black hole. Suddenly we were back to being school-aged children shopping for back to school clothes to put on layaway. Suddenly I was 12 again trying on clothes in the dressing room picking and poking at myself in the mirror trying to figure out how to smile without showing my braces. We spent the Christmas days driving around a city where I used to live for a decade. Fingerprints dirtying up the window pointing at the new buildings and neighborhoods that had changed. I would name off the different neighbors we passed as if I was a tour guide in a museum. There was always food being passed between the three rows in the car. Bags of fries, bags of chips. Empty coffee cups and water bottles filling up the cup holders. Everyone sharing stories. The laughter toppling over itself wobbling the windows of the car. The rented Tahoe became our childhood dining table. It felt like we had returned to a space in time we forgot. We had returned to ourselves.

You never know how good it can get.

You never know how good it can get!

I must own up to the fact that imagining myself doing a task or completing a goal is not the same as doing it. Consuming art content is not the same as creating art. A lot of life can be lived in the “almost” and not in the reality. A new year seems to demands goals. People offering up tips on how to optimize your life. Article after podcast after substack after tiktok of everyone claiming to find the answer. But I haven’t found a video or think piece that resonates with how I want to feel or live. I feel my best at the garden store on a windy day. The garden store has massive wind chimes that sound like church bells in the breeze and I wish they would put a bench inside so I could loiter. I feel optimized when I remember someone’s name and they smile when I use it. I feel proud when I try the modification in yoga class and don’t fall on my face. I feel loved when I catch the sunset slipping past the window and a I yell to my husband “come here come here look!” I feel reset when I put my hands into the soil while the sun burns my forearms, fingers pressing down reaching to create more life.

I am open to wonder.

With love,

T.