Out with the Old, In with the New

It’s that time of year again, when the start of a new year promises to usher in a fresh start—and the chance to shed the residual, cloying Holiday bling and reconnect instead with what you really want. It’s not about what you didn’t get, it’s not about even what you really need, but more about those innermost, deepest, best-for-you wishes that belie any advertising campaign or marketing blitz, resound with a latent urgency that’s been simmering for awhile now, and call you out: just who do you want to be and how you gonna get there?

I had a lovely Christmas; surrounded by an ever-growing, extended family and blessed with a bounty of food and good cheer, I cherished having ample time to make gifts, baking, crafting, burning (ah, cds), cutting and pasting (my favorite). I got a bunch of beautiful new warm Smart Wool socks to replace the holey, droopy, puckered ones that have been clogging up my sock drawer for the last twenty five years. I had time to play with my kids. Do some genealogy research (I know, I know, but I’ve always been a geek). Take long walks in the expanding sunlight, play in the shadows, get reacquainted with the birds. And yet…

In some ways, this is more about the space we inhabit than anything else. Mental, emotional, temporal physical, metaphysical, spiritual…all together, that collective space that surrounds us and infuses our being with a sense of who we are, how we’re feeling, and where we are. Maybe it’s that distilled present moment, the afternoon light sweeping through the house, the flutter of morning doves at the feeder, the sharp inhale of snow on pines and fir trees that brings us into that place. Maybe it’s meant to be lost every now and then so it can be appreciated all the more when rediscovered. Maybe it’s always there for the taking, an irrepressible echo of spirit that summons us from our usual slumber and demands that we take notice.

Lovely Christmases aside, my space needs some work. There are changes I haven’t yet made to my quirky ensemble of ah, furniture that would, I think, make it all feel better. And as another year passes, I am reminded, again, as I was on my birthday this past October, and on most days that shimmered in possibility, beckoned the virtual completion in my mind, yet failed to follow through, that I haven’t quite cleared out enough of the old—the broken down, the busted up, the no-longer-fits or works or feels right—in order to make room for the new. My space, it seems, is a little cluttered. And I’m going to have to clean out much more than old socks to remedy the situation. Wish me luck.