my far-away friend,
happy new year, gorgeous!
how did you celebrate? who did you ring in the New Year with? did you fall asleep through the fireworks? may I send over the tiny cheek-kiss I saved for you at midnight? New Years is not a favorite holiday of mine (I want to like it, but my sentimental-poet-brain always considers watching the time pass as more melancholy than celebratory), but I do have a good feeling about what’s ahead. there are things that I’m excited for, there are things I’m nervous to figure out, but more than anything else, I notice a thrilling little sensation in gaining a sharper sense of myself with every change of date.
I want that for you, too. I hope this year is so good to us.
in a sort of update, I’m almost finished with one of the last editing rounds for my book (coming out this year in June), so I’ll be back to posting more regularly midway through January. the imagination machine in my brain is feeling both electrified and exhausted, but I just wanted to thank you again for your patience, and I’m looking forward to picking up our conversations again.
january, january.
steely mint blue. icy flakes frozen to the window. peeling myself from bed in the morning, only when the last of night’s dark sky is swept away. I can’t tell if it’s the cold or the lull of sadness between the holidays, but I’m enjoying moving through the days in silence. observing a lot, saying very little—moving from kitchen to hallway, from coffee shop to office, from bus line to bedroom, without filling the space in between; no rush to music or podcasts or phone calls.
a friend of mine said last week, “december is not a month of breakthroughs, but rather of reflection.” though I’ve been sprinkling in smaller moments of sparked ideas, I think the need to step back stands for the whole of the winter season. rest. regathering. reflection. I can let myself save the big flashy ideas for spring. just observe. when I feel pulled to make resolutions as our countdown to a new year begins, as I throw myself into a rush of revising this book, shaving away what isn’t needed, I realize that many things hover in a stage of construction. the same way that joy does not work as a destination, goals, projects, resolutions, (even relationships, friendships, love, etc.) do not reach a finish line until we decide. (also meaning that they may never need to.) that puts a lot of power in our hands, in understanding we can always continue to work on it, or we can trust our wisdom when something feels finished. when to put it down. when to say this is enough.
I am thinking of:
train stations
herb-scented candles
the Christmas Eve screening of Elf, where an older man sat behind me, adorably chuckling, wincing, and “awww”ing along with the movie, as if seeing it for the first time
if there’s a name for the sound of a huddle of birds all taking flight at once
Harry’s New Years monologue in When Harry Met Sally
how maintaining happiness in winter means making it intentional
I’m listening to:
the neighbor fall asleep to Seinfeld
midnight, New Year’s Eve, the city sounds like a pinball machine
a four year old’s conversation about Shakira to her dad at the coffee shop
an irritated man in the check out line
the slurp of hot chocolate
my dog dreaming
I’m craving:
a snooze button that sounds less shameful
ergo: an entire week of rest
a dinner of soft cheeses
small joys: a puzzle, a late-night drive in the snow, homemade Christmas cards
a tiny resolution I’ll share with you, if you’re interested in bringing it along:
before I sat down to write you tonight, my brain was thirsty for a break. I listened. I put my notes away and stepped fully out of my work-thoughts. I made nachos for dinner, something I had planned ahead of time for me to look forward to, taking the time to layer on each ingredient I know would taste delicious to me. when it was ready, I poured a tall glass of juice, sat down, and let myself be messy (I’m talking fingers stained in salsa, sour cream thick at the edge of my lips). I giggled and sighed in bliss while I ate, which I let stretch out for however long felt good to my body.
this self-created moment felt like absolute indulgence in a way that has carried me the rest of the evening. it might sound silly, but I think without being unabashed, without the mindfulness of stating out loud to ourselves, “I’m putting productivity away and I’m going to 100% enjoy myself for a while, even being selfish in that happiness for right now,” those self-care efforts we do for ourselves don’t scratch the itch or leave us feeling as rested as we hope.
I want to better commit to my rest and to my enjoyment. my productivity is great. my creativity doesn’t need my attention right now. my gauge for living fully does. I don’t want to see my life as in-between moments, the collection of seconds in commute from one task to another. that time, and the savoring of it, belongs to me.
(it is just the same for you. <3)
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
hot chocolate fund (venmo): schuylerpeck