Revolution

Tonight marks the end of one revolution around the sun by our planet earth. A night where we celebrate, contemplate, and reflect on what has changed, and what has stayed the same, since this time last year.

I am not one to set resolutions.

When I think on the last 12 months, they feel incredibly long. And yet at the same time, the physical moments I shared with family and friends before "physical" became impossible, are vibrant and ever present. Almost as if it has been no time at all.

This year I built a new kiln.

In January the thought of rebuilding was daunting. I didn't look forward to hauling cinderblocks, or grinding bricks. The work of mixing stucco, splitting cords and cords of wood. The ache in my fingers, the stiffness in my back. I was eager for the end product only - when I could make pots and fire them again.

As it turned out, I finished my kiln and I wished I weren't done.

I made pots. Fired them with friends. And the whole time that I pinched clay between my fingers, or fed the blaze at midnight, all I could focus on was the beauty of the experience. The sound of an owl at night, the warmth of the sun's rays on a cold winter morning. Remembering how lovingly and thoughtfully each brick was layed, by my hands. The smell of freshly welded steel. The pots are a product of the experience.

We go about life with expectations, and plans. We set goals. We try to quantify success. We work TOWARDS something, instead of the something being borne from our work. Having a year of no expectations, of no formal plans - I found delight in places I didn't expect. I more deeply appreciate the process. And success looks a whole lot different to me than it did before.

Perhaps success is showing forgiveness. Perhaps success is prioritizing your health and family, over money and recognition. Choosing to engage in conversations you're afraid of. The willingness to be proven wrong. and the ability to change your mind. Taking the time to make a dozen donuts from scratch. Creating art, not to produce something, but to feel something.

I could write a laundry list of ways that I could improve in the next 365 days. We all could. There is infinite room to be better. But one thing I've discovered this year, is that I grow more from recognizing the strengths in my life, than I do the weaknesses.

Instead of torching 2020 and all the grief and heartache it brought, I challenge you to reflect on the gifts. They were numerous, even if they take searching to recognize.

Can there be freedom in feeling insignificant?
Is loss of control, not an opportunity to simply listen?
Could we not feel joy, for just getting through it?
Did we show patience? Understanding? Resiliency?
Is it not beautiful, how we managed to show and spread love, despite the barriers?

Today I will sit with all that I have learned, and all that I have endured in 2020. The challenges, the joys. The gift it was to simply exist. The opportunities to be still. What was discovered, acknowledged, and finally, accepted. How I learned to respect and love myself with a depth I did not before.

I wish you and your family well. I wish for you to feel loved, and to love.

E