Leave the year behind? Not a chance.
The past is always a part of us. Why not invite it in?
Well you must be glad to have 2023 behind you!
And I smile or say “yes, thank you!” every time I hear that lately (which is quite a bit) because I understand what they’re saying—It’s been a crappy year, with lots of pain and loss and difficult circumstances and I see you, and I feel for you, and I hope you get a fresh start.
I appreciate that kindness so much.
But something about the phrase hasn’t quite sat right with me. Over the past week, while not making in/out lists, I’ve been thinking about how we give too much credence to fresh starts.
For better or for worse, we don’t get to leave the past behind, not really. We can flip the calendar page to January, we can start new chapters, we can rise from the ashes… name your own favorite metaphor here and I’m sure it works.
But who are we, if not the culmination of all our experiences, our missteps, our mistakes and failed relationships — and the learning and the growth that come from all of it.
I still think back to all the well-intentioned people who assured me after high school that “when you get to college, you can be anyone you want to be!” Lies. Utter trash. I made sure not to say anything like that to my kids. Maybe you’ll find yourself in a better friend group, maybe you’ll learn a new part of yourself you didn’t know. But you don’t get to Saltburn yourself into a totally different person.
I know I’m probably the zillionth person you know to talk about this. I mean, whenever I see a poll or a social post asking adults whether they would go back to being 18 again, most say no way in hell. Not that I wouldn’t want my 18-year-old knees back or the ability to eat pasta for dinner every night, but no. I wouldn’t go back and start over. It’s not sudoku.
I want to keep moving forward. And the only way to do that is to get comfortable carrying all my previous years with me.
Maybe that’s not even a burden. Maybe we can look at it as a demonstration of our ever-increasing, all-powerful, mega impressive strength.
January isn’t a full factory reboot. With few exceptions, we don’t initiate a hard reset of everything about our lives and become entirely new people, even if we do manage to change some habits.
We are who we are. Our lives don’t work better by turning it off and on again, even if that were an option. Our lives work better by making incremental changes that can only happen by looking objectively about what we’ve learned from the past year (or decade or project or terrible meeting) and carrying those lessons with us.
You know that Shel Silverstein poem, What’s in the Sack? That’s what I picture.
If you don’t know it, think: Less Santa, more extremely avid collector.
(Or, a ludicrously capacious bag, if you will.)
So when I flipped our wall calendar page from 2023 to January, 2024 last week, I’m said to myself consciously, I’m not leaving the year behind.
There are few people whose thinking I admire, and they have had wonderful ways to talk about this far more succinctly than I do:
Experiencing a hard moment? Instead of getting frustrated lean into: “Huh, isn’t that interesting!?” Life bumps are your teachers.
- Tina Roth Eisenberg
The pains and joys of our years are not left behind; they are part of us, guiding us, reminding us of the depth and breadth of our human experience.
- Frederick Joseph
I am realizing that all along, there was more to me, and I am now allowing myself to see it.
- Morgan Harper Nichols
As I have mentioned here, I cry at everything — hugging old friends, making a toast before dinner, reading birthday cards from my kids, the music from Frozen, mediocre romcoms with happy endings.
(I will say I did not cry at the end of Saltburn, so there’s that.)
But I always, without fail, cry at countdown to midnight on New Year’s Eve. I think it’s because it’s evidence I get to keep going. What a privilege that is.
Gratitude notes:
To
To a whole bunch of you who upgraded to paid subscriptions recently. It’s not like I have thousands of paid subscribers, and I can’t tell you how much it means every time I get a little alert in my inbox that someone new values this space. Thank you.
To
who totally nailed my own feelings about why I’m staying on Substack despite some of the despicable views also hosted by this platform. I’m generally a “stay and fight” kind of person.Read It Forward:
I miss blogrolls and I’m still salty at Google making bloggers remove them from our sidebars as if they were some kind of unsavory link exchange scheme to game search results. So with each post I write this year, I’d like to share another Substack or two that you should be reading.
I’m starting with one that you might least expect me to love, but this here Jewish Atheist adores the writing of
, who discusses the intersection of faith spirituality and culture on . I shared her exquisite post about Sinead O'Connor back in July, and it’s an outstanding place to start.
:: trying to catch my breath between torrents of tears ::
There's no way you could have known what I was experiencing the last two days and even a few minutes ago before I checked my email and found a flood of new subscribers. 'What the f@ck?' I said aloud to the empty room. And then, toward the bottom of the flood, I saw your post come thru, which I read, and then began to weep.
Your timing is impeccable. In my world, I might say providential. Your generosity of heart, your friendship touch me in the deepest part of my soulheart, where little, fragile me goes to hide or rest.
Thank you for loving her. And me.
I wish that 8th grade teacher who accused you of plagiarism could read you today. Your writing has never been so focused, so clearly honest, so YOU. I’m so happy to be in your parade.