if i were to describe 2015 in one word, it would be this:
upheaval.
i know it's common trend for everyone to be saying how great 2015 was, and look at the new year with hope and excitement for even more good to come. that's what you do at new years, right? but if we're being honest, 2015 was a reeeal doozy. getting to the end of it and greeting 2016 has felt more like crawling to the finish line than actually arriving with glory and thrill. survival has been only with the packets of light that provide a second wind, that's really more like an incredibly needed two-hundredth wind. forgive me, therefore, if my approach to 2016 is a bit more apprehensive.
ring out the grief that saps the mind
for those that here we see no more;
ring out the feud of rich and poor,
ring in redress to all mankind.
(ring out, wild bells, alfred, lord tennyson.)
these are the words with which bean welcomed me into the new year. and perhaps that has been the true purpose of this year of 2015:
ring out the grief that saps the mind. because. without consciously realizing it, over the past few years i've been accumulating griefs of all kinds--old ones returning and new ones added upon. and this year as a whole? well. over the course of these months the year has taught what it is to ring out the grief by the means of its very own homonym: wringing. by wringing it out, bells rang through my soul--first quietly, then more strikingly, to teach me the importance of feeling. not only feelings themselves, but also the value and purpose in the process itself. the process of allowing oneself to feel. not only to feel, but to feel together with others.
in the first third of 2015, while living a life of allrussianallthetime, i was consumed with a study of grief and loss, spurred by various pieces of russian literature and enriched by life's own experiences. my eyes were opened to the effects that ripple through us and those whom we love--or conversely, don't love--as a result. i won't go into it any further here, not specifically. heaven knows i've already written more than enough words on the subject. (if you've the desire for a larger part of them,
here you are.) i simply must first acknowledge the value of that process. the way it redefined how i interacted with others. the way it taught me to look at the whole of a person's experience, not only who they are inside of the messy middle, and to receive their stories with greater understanding. with greater depth.
throughout this year, i've lived inside the very manifestations of some of my greatest fears in varying degrees. i always thought i understood loneliness. that i'd had enough emptiness to see and understand the importance of human connection. but it was only when living for a time in an even more extreme lack of connection that my understanding of people, empathy, and the importance of connection became even deeper. people need people, you know? to share our memories. to share our souls.
in the transition between that first and second third of 2015, i found myself in israel. while there, i made a profound realization about myself (many, actually). this certain one, though, was made manifest in a perfectly blended piece of metaphor from real life. and it all comes back to bags. the bags we carry. i never allow others to help carry my bags. i never want to burden them, and i'm not used to having someone else to take care. i have a finely honed,
it's okay, i've got it. and i march on my way, not wanting others to have to bother with these bags of my stories that can be rather heavy. i'm terrible at sharing my life and my story with others. i'm terrible at trusting others with these pieces that are mine. and i'm not used to having anyone persistent enough to ask with sincere desire for the answer. there's frequently the courtesy request, of course, without knowing exactly what they're asking. but when it comes down to it, often it's simply a courtesy. because no one knows what to do with these griefs. no one knows what to do with the heavy, broken pieces. the very pieces that give of that greater depth. that depth again.
the light eyes were not only a rarity but gave the one who had them a certain look--what was it?
depth, he decided;
as if one were looking into the clear water of the river,
down to the bottom, where things might lurk which hadn't been discovered yet.
(the giver, lois lowry.)
as our russian capstone project, we performed a dramatic adaptation of a portion of chekov's чайка. (
the seagull.) and one of our added pieces was an emphasis on these bags people carry, filled with their griefs, fears, and the experiences that have defined them with their presence or absence. the way people so often cling to these pieces. and israel. well, it was like an extension of that russian capstone. these bags we cling to and never let go. these griefs i've been holding, unsure of how to let them go.
2015, though. he rebelled. (sorry. russian gender of nouns. sorrynotsorry.) forced me to learn to give up some of my pieces. to share my bags in varying degrees at varying times. he started by showing me and giving me these things to be mourned, while also showing me what it means to feel. to allow feelings to be as they are. to allow experience to be whatever it is meant to be. more than that, i learned the importance of trusting myself. trusting my own instincts. trusting my own life. trusting my own story. and further trusting God with it all in addition to trusting others. not that the broken pieces of the pottery of your heart should be passed around willy-nilly. by no means. but when you've carefully found and selected someone who can be trusted. well. the sharing itself is a relief, you know? and a beautiful connection unlike anything that can be described. because there's something to be said for the sharing of souls in all human relationships. small pieces exchanged with people you meet only once. moments shared with longtime friends that delve into an unexpectedly deeper level. connections established by the sharing of the deep. these people with whom we share our souls.
the second third of 2015 was a beginning of the emptying--a loss in many respects of the connections i'd built up to that point. the final third of the year then constituted both a climax and a denouement as the emptiness and fear in my soul reached heights i'd hardly realized were possible. only in the final two months has a denouement finally come in pieces. release, relief, and resolution flooding in, even if only for a time. until the next story begins. despite my snarky impatience that comes of a soul being weary, i fully acknowledge the end being perfectly appropriate timing for a denouement. and these final few months? a culmination of all this moving and upheaval? well. they have been showing me what it means to feel. to trust God, myself, and others. and to learn to hope again.
at the beginning of 2015, in a review of the year behind and a look at the year ahead,
i made a declaration in the name of choosing hope, love, and joy.
choosing to let anything be possible.
choosing sunshine.
well, if these twelve months were what it looks like for a year to be good to me,
he certainly has a funny way of showing it.
(or perhaps a different definition for good than i have?)
happy new year.
2015, it's been real--but let's never do this again.
welcome, 2016.
be as you are.
ну и всё.
