The Spaces In Between

Every year for the past seven years, I have chosen a word or two that I want to guide me in the New Year. Rather than setting a specific resolution or creating goals, this practice is more about setting a theme or mood for the year to come. My previous words have been: breathe and lead with love (2014), trust and focus (2015), listen and flow (2016), space (2017), magic and connection (2018), joyful curiosity (2019), and tender belonging (2020). I spend quite a lot of time thinking about the words that I want to shape the new year, as words have power. And each Dec/Jan I enjoy writing these reflection posts about the words that I am letting go, and the words I am inviting to join me for the new year.

2020: Tender Belonging. I was nervous about including “tenderness” in my words last year. As I wrote in January, tenderness makes me think of tender like a bruise, but I felt that I had healed from grief enough to invite some softness/tenderness into my life. I had no idea what 2020 would bring and that we would face grief on a global scale. In this year, we have watched people act selfish and fearful, and we have seen others center kindness and care, taking care of their neighbors, marching in the streets for racial justice, and staying home to protect loved ones. Over the course of the year, these words often helped me think about how I want to show up for myself and my loved ones, and was a reminder to center compassion for myself and others in the midst of a global pandemic.

I also did a lot of thinking about the concept of “belonging” as I spent a lot of time in my PA apartment during the early days of the shut-down, moved back in with my parents for a few months, and moved to a new State. I explored the Choptank River more this summer than I have in years, and felt a deep connection to the wider world/natural landscape. I have learned how to cultivate connection with friends and family and have celebrated holidays over Zoom. I have also had to learn what it means to become part of a new campus community when it is not possible to physically connect with new students and colleagues.

This year, I was ready to let go of my 2020 words, although they served me well. In early December, on my weekly phone call with my friends from college, I noted that I was starting to think about my words, and one of my friends said that I better do a good job of picking them, as we all need something good in 2021.

The next few months are going to be tough. People are fatigued, the vaccine is slowly being distributed, and people want change, but we need to hunker down still. We are soon going to hit a year of living with covid-19, and that is going to be difficult to process mentally. We are going to need to hang on to the moments of joy and hope where-ever we can find them.

So I meditated on the word hope for a while. I thought about sweet hope, we need some sweetness to counter the bitterness of 2020. Sweet/sweetness has been on my word lists a few times, I wondered if this be the year for it? I also thought about the word laughter to accompany hope, and counter the tears of 2020. I considered the words love, softness, joy, resilience. I thought about the phrases soft resilience, joyful resilience, joyful hope.

And then one day the phrase fierce hope popped into my head, and it felt right.

We are going to need strength to get through the next six months. Just as we are getting tired, we need to dig deep. We need to believe that we can do this, we can get through this next year of the pandemic. We need to stay fierce and committed to our families, and our communities. We need to stay committed to protecting others, and to fighting for justice on all levels.

One of my favorite poems is Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson. I love her description of hope, and this fierce, feathered version of it is exactly what I am thinking about in terms of what I will be carrying with me into this next year.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.