on 2021.

I had initially framed the start of the year as a year of increased vulnerability; a year of holding heart and holding space for increased emotional intimacy, not necessarily through increased relationship building, but through increased relational honesty. The idea of being trustworthy enough to hold space and heart for others, and listen to the stories they tell. I have always been fascinated and grateful for the opportunity to hold and witness growth regardless of circumstance, and to see people run, as soon as they find their feet from under them.

That said, I find in the last few months of this year, and the last few days of this year, retreating into a space that perhaps is not to dissimilar to one that found me at the start of 2021. A space of exhaustion, and a struggle with balance that in the whirlwind of a reopening and sudden decline into what may inevitably be another period of social isolation, I find myself searching once more for pieces. Pieces that perhaps I’ve allowed myself to displace and disregard far too easily. I return to old habits albeit dressed in different clothing. It is so easy to return to comfort post-exhaustion, and neglect the lessons learnt and growth sustained throughout the last year.

As the last of the December days roll through into January, I find myself returning a little more hope-filled, not at the promise of a new year, with new perspectives and horizons, or a return to the things that were, but a renewed understanding that there will be continued space. Specifically space to be. While perhaps I may have to inevitably live and camp in the margins, that there will always be space, amid the frantic to take stock of the journey traversed and step outside of myself to remember to see the sun. As much as I am inclined to share my word and hope for the new year, may January come with a simple exercise in being. That enough is beyond enough, and that surviving and thriving can also exist on the same page.