January 3, 2024
Here we are, in the brand-new year
of 2024! Did you get to put your party on as the clock counted down? Or did you
pass the moment more peacefully?
Some folks love to have a loud
and busy party to sweep out the old and usher in the new. Some go to bed well
before the witching hour, and instead of noting the passage, awaken to a done
deal.
In our years together, near
the beginning, we did have occasion a couple of times to attend New Years Eve
parties. But as our family grew, we chose to put our resources toward giving
the children the best Christmas possible, rather than spending on ourselves. At
the time, we contented ourselves with the thought that we might turn into party
animals once our little ones were grown, but alas, that never happened.
We’re not now nor are we ever
going to be party animals. We’re more for the quiet, and the peace—and that
only becomes truer the older we get.
Once, in my early teens, I did
spend New Years eve skating out the old year and skating in the new. So, I’ve
tasted of those more exciting ways to mark the end of one year and the
beginning of the next.
But mostly these days, David
and I simply choose a music program on television to watch (or use as background
music to our reading, depending) and then witness the dropping of the ball in
Times Square, New York. We hold hands as the seconds are counted down, then
wish each other a Happy New Year. For us, it’s a good way to celebrate.
I’m not one for making New
Years resolutions, either. My experience with those is not a happy one, as I
never made a resolution that I was able to follow through with. I’ve come to
the conclusion that the promises one makes in life, especially those
promises made to the self, should be considered and well thought out. If you
make a resolution in the midst of the holiday, in the spirit of the moment, it
might not be a resolution you’re truly ready to keep.
It’s serendipitous, I think,
that this first essay of 2024 falls on the third of January. This morning, I took
a quiet moment to mark this day, the sixty-first anniversary of my father’s
passing. I do have some memories of him, though not as many or as vivid as they
might have been if I’d had more than eight years with him. But there are some
good memories, and they make me smile. They’re remembrances enough for me to
know that though my time with him was short, he loved me.
I no longer think myself odd
if my throat goes tight, or a tear comes to my eye, thinking of him. I’ve come
to understand that everyone grieves differently. Grief isn’t an aberration; it’s
a byproduct of love.
Life is not static, because,
well, it’s alive, isn’t it? And being alive, it will ebb and flow, it will
pause, and it will change. We change, we humans, through the course of our lives.
That’s just a part of our nature. We need security, yes, and balance too. But
those are ours to forge, ours to create in whatever manner we choose. And
because that is so, there is no wrong way to do that.
This year, I managed to get
through my holiday season without any great highs or devastating lows and I
consider that a win. I took a break from working on my manuscript and instead re-read
a trilogy from one of my favorite authors. I’m glad I did, because I needed
that mental break. I needed a few days to just be.
I’m almost ready to dive into
my work. Almost. I need to take a bit of time to organize my messy office, and
I’m almost ready to do that, too.
But for this moment, I think I’ll
take just a little more time to relax, to remember, and to give thanks for all
the blessings I’ve been given.
Love,
Morgan
https://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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