Hello, dear ones! We are well into January, which means the holiday season is officially over. I can’t help but be a little sad about our return to normalcy – no more glowing string lights, the pine roping draped around the fireplace is gone (having left behind a hearty sprinkling of pine needles), and the house feels considerably less cozy.
What I miss most, however, is all of the extra socializing that occurs like clockwork between the end of November and the start of January. So many family gatherings, adventures with friends new and old, and a visit to Maine for quality time with some of our favorites. Why don’t we keep a good thing going and carry it on through the rest of the year?
That brings me to the months and year ahead. My husband put a voice to the obvious, simply saying: So let’s make a greater effort to spend time with friends and family regardless of the time of year. Wise man, that Zach. I’m not one for resolutions. They feel cliché and doomed to fail. Rather, I am simply making an agreement with the universe to do more of what makes my heart sing. And part of that agreement means spending more time with people who take up a considerable amount of real estate in that four-roomed organ otherwise known as my heart.
I am also making an agreement with the universe to do more of what is good for me. Sure, that captures all manner of sins, but specifically here I mean taking better care of myself. Acknowledging that I am human and that I feel things a little more deeply than most… and that all of those messy quirks make me who I am.
Which brings me to a poem I wrote one day while I was feeling particularly battered and at odds with the world. I was wondering when kindness would make a comeback (still wondering, in fact), and I resolved to preserve within myself those characteristics that make me who I am.
The Egg Drop
The classic grade school science project –
the one where you drop an egg
(hard-shelled with easily compromised insides)
from a height and hope it won’t smash on the sidewalk.
The successful packed their eggs with insulation,
cushioned and padded them before letting them fall.
These days we are part of a grown-up experiment, but the lesson is the same.
We must pack ourselves with stuffing, we must insulate ourselves.
I am building for myself a cocoon,
because if I don’t I will surely smash into a thousand tiny pieces on the pavement.
It’s really a bunker of sorts, one where I can climb in at will and wait it out
while I’m there typing at my desk or cooking dinner
or folding towels hot out of the dryer.
It’s simple, you see, I am wrapping myself in layers,
around my bones and around my heart,
to keep myself from cracking upon arrival.