arrivals and departures
a love letter to holding on and letting go
Fun fact: most everything I’ve written and published on Substack has been a second draft. I have an idea, start typing, come back to it a bit later, highlight the whole damn thing, hit delete.
Rinse, repeat.
You would think I would become frustrated by this pattern, but I don’t. It feels a bit like purging a closet crammed with things I don’t need. At the end of the day, it’s about honesty. Over and over again I have to remind myself why I continue to show up here. I’m not here to teach, I’m not here to investigate, I’m not here to rant: I’m here to observe. Like an alien who has crash landed on earth, I come in peace, and I just want to (better) understand what I’m seeing. So the minute my writing starts to look like anything other than reflections, I pivot. So at the end of the year, I’m here again, writing, editing, deleting, retyping. I’m reflecting and (hopefully) learning, and most of all, I am attempting to be obedient.
This week, in an attempt to get my writing ducks in a row, I reserved a study room at the library and sprawled my things out across the table. I pulled the bag of peanut M&M’s that had been tucked down in my stocking and munched on them as I stared at the white board in the room, giddy that I had the chance to map out my thoughts before writing them here. In the few days before the end of the year, it’s hard to know what to say. The final days of December always have the internet bursting with lists: accomplishments, failures, products that “changed my life”, and worst of all, resolutions for next year.
These lists are dizzying. The end of the year already feels like living in the box with Schrodinger’s cat–even the deeply liturgical among us will probably admit to the intense brain fog that comes between Christmas and the new year. We plan for this massive thing while sitting on top of a dying star. It is no different for me.
David and I were talking today about what word or words we wanted to anchor us in 2024, all while our toddler slept on the couch with an earache. We are in the here and the now and no list, no matter how helpful, can save us. We dream about the future, make plans for our minds, souls, and bodies and what we hope might happen, all while dealing with the here and now as it flames out.
This foggy space feels holy, so I’m running with it.
Holding Tight and Letting Go
This year, like so many before it has been a year of arrivals and departures. Even as the year itself departs, I find myself staring backward, bleary eyed, hoping that I can send it off with more gratitude than spite.
Instead of making a list of what worked, what I accomplished, or lamenting what failed, I find it would be helpful and honest for me to list what I plan to hold onto going forward, and what I am releasing. My hope is that in the simple act of gripping what is good and letting go of what isn’t, I’ll find my footing again, and moreover, find that God was with me even when I couldn’t see Him.
Things I’m holding onto:
–Honoring needs over feelings
I do trust my feelings and I do want to chase my dreams, but I have a habit of trying to build a house without a foundation. Sometimes it’s as simple as eating a healthy breakfast so that I can serve my family well and feel good in my body. Sometimes it’s seeking specialized therapy in order to do hard things that feel too crippling to attempt. My feelings are completely valid, but they often inform a deeper need that hasn’t been met, so I plan to continue to tune more fully into what my core needs are before jumping to conclusions.
–Doing good for myself in small increments
My perfectionist tendencies got the best of me in many ways this year. If I can’t do something perfectly (work out 3x/week, read 40 new novels, etc) then what’s the point in doing it at all? This mindset has warped my brain since childhood, but this year I’ve found that doing things that are good for me, even in small increments and imperfectly, is better than not doing it at all. The days I take a long walk or read one chapter of a book are not as impressive as completing a HIIT training or reading 10 chapters, but they give me purpose and a small feeling of accomplishment.
–The day. Only the day.
I have been quoting Matthew 6:34 since I was a child and have NEVER understood how to put it into practice until recently, and even now, the future can have such a chokehold on me. However, with the mounting troubles my family faced this year, there was a moment when I realized that I no longer had the privilege to worry about some things. Old Emily had the opportunity to worry about everything. The Emily of today knows that holding that kind of weight day in and day out isn’t even possible. So why try? Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you are with me. Not telling me how further I have to go, not telling me the pain will go away, but with me. That’s it. Today. And that’s enough.
Things I’m releasing:
–The idolization of the Proverbs 31 woman
She’s beauty, she’s grace, she never makes mistakes. Sorry, I don’t buy it. No woman can embody every single one of these attributes all the time, or ever. I’ve lived in communities that have hammered this passage into young women like a threat and I’m done with it. This woman has support. She has a loving family. She has friends and is deeply rooted in her community. This woman knows herself and her limitations. This woman has money (otherwise, how could she buy those fields that she considers?). This woman sounds highly allegorical to me and if that’s the case, then she’s much more approachable. If I don’t have to be her all the time, then I can learn to be like her some of the time, and that’s a much more gracious place for me to live.
–That hard can also be good
I hate working out. Hate it. I don’t like pain or feeling my body struggle. But the endorphins don’t suck and neither does building muscle in order to honor my aging body. Having a child with special needs is excruciating. But the child himself? He’s an absolute miracle. Funny, bright, full of life–he greets strangers with big smiles and never excludes other children from playing with him. Raising him is hard, but he is not. I have learned that I can do hard things, and for the first time, I want to. Sometimes, thanking the pain for teaching me things I don’t yet know is the bravest thing I can do.
–The idea that I’m too much or not enough
Yeah, yeah I’ve heard the whole “you are the daughter of the one true King” bit a million times. I don’t know very many people where that rings true for them and it certainly never has for me, true though it may be. But again, time and experience are the greatest teachers. If I could go back and tell my 16 year old self what I have seen and done, she wouldn’t believe it. I’m not extraordinary, but I have endured. More than feeling God’s hand on my life, I have experienced His silence and endured the pain of Him taking dreams out of my tightly clenched hands. I have wrestled with God, shouted at Him, cursed Him and He has not left me. Clearly, I am exactly who He made me to be.
Flight 2023, departing soon…
This is the liminal space between here and then. People say that in order to make God laugh, we should tell him our plans, but I don’t think that’s true at all. He gave us life and free will and now we get to make good on it. We gather with friends and toast at midnight to a year that could bury us, but we bless it all the same. We’re gracious to time in hopes that time will be gracious to us, even though it rarely is. We build LEGO sets and work desk jobs and learn how grapes turn into wine. We feed dogs and smoke pork loins and scrub at unidentifiable stains. We kiss strangers and cancel plans and drive our children to school, to soccer, to therapy, to a million places (because we are always driving our kids somewhere). We make plans and God honors the dishes we wash and the shoes we wear and the blades of grass we clip with our mowers in the spring because He sees us. These plans we make? He loves them. He loves us. And round it goes forever.
So raise a glass with me: here’s to our comings and goings, however unceremonious they are. May we hold things loosely while continuing to love deeply. And may we always be paying attention.
Always,
Emily
Postscript: If you must know, here’s a little list of things I loved this year: Trader Joe’s pita crackers, wool socks, BIC mechanical pencils, study rooms at the library, matcha honey lattes, listening to Andy Squyres discography on Spotify, naps, morning walks with friends, implementing breathing techniques, audio books, and a quality dirty gin martini.
You’re welcome.
🥂