I sat in the auditorium seats for the high school music department’s winter concert having heard a sermon on joy earlier in the day, feeling less than joyful. It was raining outside, a dreary December day that was mild in temperature. Frankly, I would have preferred snow.
I was in a melancholy mood and some of the music reflected that. I don’t mind the peppy Christmas music but I connect more with what my daughter calls “depressing” Christmas music. “In the Bleak Midwinter” could be my theme song.
But I don’t hate December, or the dark days of late fall. I would rather scurry home when the sunlight fades, curl up on the couch with a warm drink and blanket, reading or watching a movie than go out. I feel less guilty about hibernating in the winter months than in the summer when I feel more pressure to be out in the longer sunlit evenings.
Both have their benefits. I wouldn’t want all one or the other.
I perked up a bit when the band introduced “Old Scottish Melody” which often goes by the more familiar name “Auld Lang Syne.” It was a beautiful performance of a piece that reminded me of New Year’s Day. We were offered the chance to reflect, and I realized it was time for me to do that.
The year draws to a close and it was a year not soon forgotten. Time to look back. And ahead.
The year that was
If you’ve been in this space for longer than a minute, you know that this year was life-changing.
In May I suffered a pulmonary embolism and spent five days in the hospital, four of them in the ICU and one day on a form of life support.
This single event changed my summer plans (I mostly spent it recovering) and the way I viewed my life. I started re-thinking what I wanted my life to be about. I decided to do some things that scare me, that I’ve said “someday” about, that I don’t want to miss.
I made a list of 10 things from a larger list I started at age 40, and I’ve been slowly chipping away at these 10 things.
But this year wasn’t all sadness and tragedy. I turned 45, which I chose to celebrate with a day all to myself. I changed jobs, and I love that I have more flexibility and more pay. We took a family trip to Maryland in the spring after a busy season. I ate oysters for the first time. We then took an unforgettable family vacation to Arizona in the summer. We saw the Grand Canyon and reconnected with dear friends.
I preached four times, once with Phil, which we haven’t ever really done.
I have as many, probably more, fond memories of this year than ones that caused me fear and anxiety.
For that, I am grateful.
The year that will be
Ever since the COVID-19 pandemic, I’ve approached a new year with some hesitation. It’s not that I have no hope for the future. I don’t think I could live without hope. It’s that I no longer place weighty expectations on a new year.
The year to come will have its ups and downs, its joys and sorrows, its tragedies and triumphs, its griefs and celebrations. To pretend otherwise is to be unaware of how life is.
It is both-and. Brutal and beautiful—brutiful, as Glennon Doyle likes to say.
This year I might not change the world, but I will set intentions that lead me further down the path toward the world I want to inhabit.
For a limited time, I’m offering a discount on annual paid subscriptions to this newsletter. A paid subscription will get you occasional extras, like next week’s post where I share some of my favorite things from this year (books, songs, food, memories) and sometimes you’ll be the first to know about my progress on the 10 Things. You can still subscribe for free, of course. I’m eager to grow this community however I’m able.
I’m glad you’re here.