Witness 11: A Little Thing Called Hope
Sometimes the air just feels a bit different.
A QUIET JOY
FROM YOU
Three things. My kitten. A fire. A homemade meal. These give me such joy. Simple, yet these simple things give me incomparable inner happiness. I want nothing more, when I am slowing down and fully enjoying these three simple things.
Celine, London
A REFLECTION FROM ME
I always find that the air in the first week of the year smells different. Even if this isn't the same date that we all acknowledge as the beginning of a new year. It's as if the air is perfumed with all our hopes and expectations. Even when we verbalise our fears, or close our hearts to the possibility that this year might be better than last year, lest we disappoint ourselves; there is always a whispering flame within us that has hope.
But, how do we keep hope alive when life has had other plans? How do we convince ourselves to dream again? To wish? To desire?
In my book, Take It In, I speak about something I call the Sphere of Suspension. The place where we internally land after we're hit with an obstacle; be it pain, grief, heartbreak or a disappointment. The feeling of being suspended in time before we even get to sit with the emotions of it. In the Sphere of Suspension, we often find ourselves in disbelief, avoidance, authentication and scripting.
When we're in disbelief, we're shocked or numbed by the thing that happened. When we're in avoidance, we want to hush the pain down, or fill the space that hurts with busyness. When we find ourselves in authentication, we try to find any evidence to prove that this is somehow all our fault and yearn to find a reason why this has happened. Then, we script. We future-think and convince ourselves that there's no more hope left, no more opportunities and good things will never come again.
It feels like shit. It is also human.
When we've been sitting somewhere between all of this, the last thing we want to do is believe again. I started filling in my End-of-Year Reflection Innerworkbook the other day. When it got to the sections about creating what's next, I closed the book quicker than slamming a taxi door shut when you're running late.
It felt safe to reflect. Safe to sit with the lovely bits of the year. Even safe to sit with the very hard bits. It didn't feel safe to hope for what could be. And I didn't force myself to, I prefer to do this in Spring, as life jolts awake and we take tentative steps outside of our hibernation.
But, it did make me think about my reluctance. Was it really because I wasn't ready to hope or was I too afraid to? I haven't found my answer yet, because it's okay to be in-between feelings and answers.
What I do know is that, just like Celine, I want my year to be filled with simple things and Quiet Joys. I know it will be, because that's the point of them. They exist whether we believe or not. They are around us wherever we glance. I'm not there yet with writing any external intentions, career or money goals, places I want to visit (apart from NYC, obviously) or anything. It's okay if you're not either.
I do know how I want to feel, and I chose four words to describe that.
I want to be more consistent in how I connect to my body. I want to nurture myself and my relationships as I evolve. I want to live with joy in each of my cells.
The last one? I want to feel safe enough to do it all of that.
But, I also want to feel safe enough to keep hoping.
And that is my wish for us all.
1 Little Practice For…
SLOWING INTO THE YEAR
MAKE YOUR OWN TRADITIONS
Our relationship to any socio-cultural traditions, milestones or holidays can be so complex. Yet, they get to be our own. If you can't find a home in the language of a “new year” or you're having mixed feelings, then create your own tradition that feels truly yours. Whether that is celebrating on the spring equinox in March, or using this time to reflect instead of initiate.