As I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, January had presented North Carolina’s first snow, sleet, and maybe freezing rain was falling outside my window. Wintry mix they called it. I felt a chill creep up my ankles threatening a rise to my knees, even though my house is warm and dry. It’s early January, we’ve made it through to another year, another December. I curled up in my easy chair wrapped in an old wool blanket and tucked it around my feet to ward off the chill. The smell of mothballs tickles my nose. Through the window I watched as the wintry mix collected in the shallow, dark green bowls made by the leaves of my Little Gem magnolia. My thoughts turned to less fortunate times. Funny how the past habituates us to a particular mindset even when circumstances change.
While I love Christmas profoundly and giddily decorate my home with all the trimmings, I approach Decembers with some trepidation or at least with two minds. It’s not surprising. Even in popular music for every “First Noel” there’s a “Long December” (Counting Crows) and for every “Sleigh Bells Ring” there’s a “If We Make Through December” (Merle Haggard). Both Haggard and Counting Crows speak of hope for a “year better than the last”. Such dichotomy for a single month.
Historically, for me anyway, December is a month of joyous celebration with family and friends, nearly frenzied decorating and baking. And then there’s the other side of December. Concerns about staying warm, stretching a threadbare budget to accommodate the fluctuations of seasonal employment while purchasing gifts or treats for Christmas dinner and meeting all the expectations of others in this season. More personally, there was often a feeling of not reaching goals, of being less than I hoped to be. Never mind that I too often sought perfection in all things. As a child and for many years as an adult these were my December thoughts.
In years past, I would struggle to remain engaged, hence the frenzy and giddiness, and to not become enveloped in my personal dark cloud. But no more do I struggle with this particular demon. So why? Why must I irritate the fingers of my psyche rubbing them against the rough woolen blanket of my past?
I clutch the scratchy blanket to remind myself how far I’ve come in life. To remind myself to always be thankful for the opportunities I was able to take advantage of and what my life has become. So joyfully different than what might have befallen the young transplant from the seaside all those years ago. To remind myself to look forward in hope. To believe that even though this past year was a good one, the coming year will also be good.
As this new year begins, I encourage you to do the same. Remember the past and the lessons learned there. As the magnolia leaves collected the snow in their shallow bowl, remember collect joy in your heart. But most importantly, go forth with gratitude, kindness and grace, for others and just as importantly for yourself.
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