The New Year Meets Midlife Me: January Contemplations
I’ve always enjoyed the clean slate feeling that comes at the beginning of a calendar year. Although it’s been a long time since I’ve bought into the idea that January magically erases all of our woes and somehow blesses us with an immediate abundance of everything we want and need, I’ve still felt drawn towards the sense of possibility that a new year brings. There’s a chance to start over. To move forward with renewed focus and intention.
But the start of this year has felt wildly different for me.
We moved home in mid-December, swapping the concrete and chaos of Queens, NYC for a small house in the woods in upstate New York, a dream I’ve held for many years. I had imagined that the move would be fairly straightforward, and it many ways it was, but I hadn’t anticipated quite how much it would take out of us, or how very scattered everything would feel.
Despite the internet convincing us all to finish the year strong (or soft, depending on who you pay attention to), December saw me scrambling to simply get through the month. For weeks we were living surrounded by boxes as we awaited confirmation of our closing date, I had to fly to Florida for a job in the middle of it all, and then returned to pack up the rest of our apartment. We spent Christmas and New Year in Connecticut where I was pet sitting, so we didn’t have much of a chance to settle into our new home before leaving again.
I felt gratitude and relief that we’d made the move happen, but I also felt as though I was rushing from place to place and that I needed to anchor myself.
As has become customary for me in the last few years, I decided to do a private end of year journaling ceremony to reflect and recenter, and help me get clarity on what I wanted to focus on next.
In 2023 my guiding words were ‘Home’ and ‘Emerge’. I desperately wanted to have my very own sanctuary in nature, and I also wanted to emerge more by connecting with others in person, something this introvert can sometimes shy away from.
My guiding words served me well. They offered me meaning and direction throughout the year, and helped me move towards the reality I truly wanted to bring into being.
‘Home’ felt like such a huge and scary word to choose. How could we possibly make it happen? Where would we start? How would we afford everything? There were so many questions I didn’t have answers for but I kept trusting that it would all somehow come together. And here I am writing to you from our peaceful sanctuary in the woods. (I am, for brevity, skimming over the tears, anxiety, and arguments that were also a part of this journey.)
‘Emerge’ helped steer me out of the comfort-zone cocoon I am often loathe to leave. I was determined to coax myself into more circles and events and I was thrilled to (re)connect with some amazing people in 2023. I got to hug Mona Eltahawy again, and Omisade Burney-Scott for the first time. I got to have tea in Bryant Park with Ann Marie McQueen and stroll in Central Park with Katie Fogarty. I got to meet my dear friends Dara Goldberg, Gail Gensler, Jill Girling and so many more. I got to work out with Dr. Mary Claire Haver and I even got to meet Naomi Watts who told me she loved following me on Instagram (what the actual?!) Not bad for a hardcore INFJ.
I didn’t so much choose a guiding word for 2024 as much as a word chose me.
Healing.
Not too earth shattering, right? A word we hear often enough. But a practice that I have skirted around for a long time as I’ve prioritized a number of other things ahead of my own health.
It’s close to two years since I was diagnosed with a benign brain tumor and had to undergo an emergency craniotomy within a week. Recovery has been far from easy. It’s been hard and humbling and I’ve struggled on more days than I haven’t.
The healing I needed post-surgery wasn’t accessible to me in the way that I wanted it to be. I was crumbling in the city. My nervous system was in tatters and every cell in my body was screaming at me to get into nature. It’s a privileged problem to have in many ways. The fact that I was even able to have access to medical care and an apartment to return to afterwards is no small thing. Believe me when I say I am deeply grateful for everything I have. But it’s also true that I was in a fairly dark place for a long while.
I didn’t have the means, or even the strength, to relocate at that time. And because I knew I really needed to be in nature in order to heal myself at the root, I deferred a lot of the deeper recovery work until a later time.
Now is that later time.
I’m ready to begin a healing journey. Not the Insta-worthy kind that showcases the candles and the serene expression of a wholly together human. I mean, there will definitely be candles and I might even have a moment of two of looking somewhat serene, but I’ll also likely spend a good amount of time coming up against decades-old stories, crying in the bath/on my yoga mat/to the trees, and wondering why healing has to be as messy and hard as it really is.
And it really, really is.
My intention to heal has already seen me take several steps back from the work I thought I’d be kicking off 2024 with. I took an early morning solo walk to the beach on New Year’s Day and shared some words of gratitude with the ocean. In the days that followed I waited for the burst of fresh, new energy to course through my veins, the excited rush of ideas and inspiration to ignite me.
None of it came.
What I really felt was tired and quiet, as though I’d woken up a little too early from a hibernation. Almost there, but not quite ready to come out.
I found myself thinking “I’ll get it together tomorrow”. But then I realized I didn’t actually want to get it together. What I really wanted was to go slowly. To let the dust of December settle. To go at my own pace. To honor my needs instead of overriding them.
And, despite my end of year reflection practice, the clarity I’d hoped to enter January with has largely been absent.
Many days I have sat down at my desk ready to begin working on something, but instead of flowing through the day, my mind inconveniently empties and a sense of panic sets in. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be sharing.
I’m certain that at least some of this is related to perimenopause. The brain fog. The lack of motivation. The general sense of anxious restlessness. But, I also can’t help but think that a lot of it is that we’re not wired to charge through every season with the same amount of energy and enthusiasm.
For years, I’ve heard people speak of the cyclical ways of humans and how we best honor our internal rhythms by paying attention to nature and how she takes time to shift into each seasonal expression. I’ve no doubt spoken about this very thing myself before. And I thought I knew. But I now realize I didn’t.
In recent winters, I’ve only ever given myself a week, at most, to rest and replenish my reserves. Perhaps it was enough for me then. Maybe all I needed was a mini reset over the holiday period in order to feel January ready. And off we go again.
But this year, both my body and my mind are pleading with me not to go back to full speed, or even half speed, just yet. It’s been quite interesting (uncomfortable) to resist the expectations the rest of the world wants to put on me, along with the even greater expectations I tend to put on myself.
Tempting though it is to get swept along with the productivity parade, I’ve been granting myself permission, wherever possible, to do only what is necessary, only what is nourishing.
I’m not eating any differently. My belly is soft. I have no abs to speak of. I looked in the mirror the other day and I gave a little gasp of surprise at how much older I suddenly looked. My skin is sagging more and more. Deeper lines. Bigger grooves. The number on the bathroom scale is higher.
I’ve had a bunch of emails inviting me to do New Year challenges. And all I can think of is that life is challenging enough, and why are we so utterly obsessed with striving harder? In this hemisphere at least, it is still winter. What exactly are we racing towards? And who exactly are we hoping to impress?
For the first time ever, I’ve entered January without feeling as though I have to improve something (which often translates to feeling as though we have to prove something.) What if we simply allowed ourselves to be more of ourselves? What then?
Maybe, like me, you’re not really feeling pulled towards grand plans and big statements right now. Maybe you’re tired or bruised or broken hearted. Maybe you don’t know what makes much sense anymore given the state of our planet and the horrors we’re seeing play out.
In the midst of my uncertainty, I keep coming back to what I know for sure.
The world is brutal and beautiful. I am appalled and inspired by humans every day. My body is sometimes a stranger, sometimes a familiar friend. Aging is uncomfortable and incredible. I believe wholeheartedly in a better world and I am afraid for the future.
I am letting it all be true.
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