Hello again. I have more pictures of winter skies. A lot of them, actually, although I’ve really tried to cull it down to some number that seems reasonable to impose on you and your kind attention here.
As has become our tradition, we saw in the new year at the beach. It was a pretty classically fantastic winter beach weekend, with moody dawns and brilliant dusks and a few spots of blinding blue in between. The waves crashed non-stop for three days, the kind of roaring and breaking that vibrates through your whole body and glues you to a spot in the sand, staring, absorbed by the ceaseless rhythm of it all until suddenly you are scrambling to keep your feet dry and looking around sheepishly to see who might be witnessing your high-stepping.
Going into the weekend, the turning of the calendar didn’t feel much like an event that needed marking this year. I had several big transitions in the last few months, and did my share of reflecting on what they meant to me, on our journeys and lessons and gratitudes for 2018. But it turns out that there’s always room for more reflection, or at least there was this time. So I stood on the beach and felt the waves and thought about all the living that we crammed into the last year, and what kind of hopes I have for the next year. And it felt good, especially that part about new hopes.
I hope that you, too, can stand and look at a horizon and feel peace and possibility this year. I hope that you will be awed by light and clouds. I hope that you will find a bit more trust in the innate goodness of yourself and the universe. Maybe even enough trust to allow a new crack in the protective armor you have constructed for your heart, a crack that might allow you to be seen a little more honestly or to feel something you thought was too uncomfortable. Maybe that crack will open just wide enough for some of that light to sneak in. I guess what I’m saying is, I hope that your heart feels a little brighter this year.