
01/01/2025
In the heady rush of what this liminal season has become, I find myself craving something entirely different. January 1st no longer feels like the start of a new year the more I lean into The Wheel of the Year. For the ancient Celts (some of my ancestors), the beginning of a new year coincided with Samhain (Halloween) because the harvest was mostly done and the season of dark and wintering was settling in. They believed that all life began in the dark - the womb space, the soil, the fecund material that modern society tends to want to neglect or race through. For them, a new year was time to go inward and allow the seeds to root.
I also find my body becoming ever more resistant to setting goals or resolutions or anything production oriented; it rebels against the idea that I have to be actively producing or chasing something
all
the
damn
time.
So here’s to the depths and honoring the fact that maybe you’re just tired and want to rest and celebrate just being. Right now. Being here, now.
(All this as much of a reminder to myself as anyone.)
p.s. I think you’re doing great.