Originally posted on Palace Ancestors December 29, 2022
For me, each and every year I’ve been a human has somehow felt like three or four. Not that the days drag or stop moving, but that so much seems to happen in each year that it can’t be just a year that’s gone by—it’s got to be two, or three, or four years. I’m sure of it every time, and yet when I look at the calendar, it’s still just one year. Go figure.
With this in mind, I do this weird thing where I think I haven’t done much that year. I could finish a degree and start new jobs and volunteer opportunities and get lost in books, and still my brain will tell me “oh no, you’ve done nothing. You’ve just existed for the last 365 days and that’s it.”
“What’s so bad about just existing?”
I know this is ridiculous, so for the past few years I’ve taken some time at the end of the year to write down everything I accomplished that year. This lets the little gremlins in my mind see that I did do something—a whole lot of somethings.
But even if I didn’t, what’s so bad about just existing? What’s so bad about skimming through the days, taking long hours to drink coffee and knit and read books slowly? What’s so wrong about wanting to lie on the kitchen floor and listen to music, or take long, winding walks through the woods to touch the moss and the bark of trees, or sit for hours with a friend at a cafe, writing in journals? What about sitting in silence? What’s wrong with that?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You may be thinking, “this is all common sense—what’s wrong with you?” but I’m the kind of person who constantly has to challenge themself on getting enough rest; on being still. So what if I didn’t get everything done today that I wanted to? So what if I leave something until tomorrow or the next day? It’s not going anywhere, and I need to sit down sometimes and just be. We all do.
Anyway. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. What I’m here to talk about is a practice we sometimes do in art therapy when sessions or a group are coming to a close (I’m in grad school to become an art therapist—done in May!). We take a look back at the weeks or months that have passed, and we look forward to the months coming, and we ask two questions:
What are you taking with you?
What are you leaving behind?
“Quiet mornings curled in the old armchair, reading a book and dark evenings stretching out before me with the glimmer of string lights lighting the room.”
It’s easy for me to decide what I’m taking with me: long, rambling walks. Drinking coffee and watching the world go by. Creative community projects with friends and new acquaintances. Writing poetry and more poetry and more poetry. Long afternoons in the garden pulling weeds and feeling the grit of dirt under my nails. Quiet mornings curled in the old armchair, reading a book and dark evenings stretching out before me with the glimmer of string lights lighting the room. Making weird art for myself and no one else. My first-ever newsletter, Prophecies for 2023, is an extension of what I’m taking with me (and a poetic one, at that!).
As for what I’m leaving behind, that takes a bit more effort. I know I want to spend less time worrying about doing things wrong: at school or work, or in my personal life. There are things that have been ground into me over the years and it’s so hard to pull myself out of the deep grooves of compounded habit. I would also like to improve even more with boundaries. I’ve become pretty skilled in setting boundaries with others, especially saying no to things that I don’t have time or energy for, but I know I need to re-learn boundaries with myself: cutting myself off after the first cup of coffee. Not being drawn to thrift shops like a moth to a lamp. Working on easing back from rigid schedules and deadlines that are not only arbitrary, but stress-inducing.
Then there are habits I want to strengthen or rebuild and carry with me into the new year: meditating in the morning. Easing back into yoga. Becoming vegetarian again so that I no longer have to spend evenings nauseous and filled with regret (I may have some food intolerances I’ve been avoiding). Finding books outside the scope I’d normally search in and giving them a real try; not abandoning them just because they don’t sing to me within the first few pages.
I know this is a lot to take, to carry, to build or re-build, but I also know I can give myself the reminder that this is all changeable. I can decide in two months that I hate yoga or that the books I’m reading right now are just fine. I can stop meditating or start swimming or take up pole dancing—which, let’s be real, would be a super cool thing for me to do.
That’s the fun thing about being a human, right? Giving yourself choice and freedom to try things out and discard what doesn’t fit. You can do whatever the hell you want in your life (within reason!). It’s all up to you.
So, what about you: what are you taking with you? What are you leaving behind?
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