Nine lessons from 2015

December 23, 2015
family, healthy communities, mindfulness, social commentary, writing lifeComments Off on Nine lessons from 2015

On the eve of 2015’s longest night of the year (Dec 21st) I sat among girlfriends to celebrate a birthday. As we gathered to leave one friend pointed out that some of us have known each other for 27 years. These are women who’ve seen me at my worst and my best and women who, no matter how far we travel, always feel like home. In Kensington market people walk through the streets with fire and lights, masks and music dancing on the eve of the Winter Solstice. It’s light-hearted and fun and reminds me to turn to the light when darkness prevails around and sometimes inside. It’s the time of year when anxiety or sadness amps up for many. This year, I feel I’ve seen more Christmas lights on trees and porches then in the past few years. The number of people I know fundraising or participating in a group supporting Syrian refugees is astoundingly beautiful. We Canadians have ushered in a new Vogue worthy Prime Minister and though the dollar is plunging in value to our southern neighbours, it seems that things are looking up.

I reread a post from last winter, Post-Pardonne Moi and I feel like I could have written it yesterday. Cyclical life lessons recur though sometimes I am the student and sometimes the wise teacher. These things stand out to me most from this past year, lessons learned and ones I continue to uncover:

  1. Sailing rocks.
  2. Skype is better than sliced bread.
  3. Parenting is akin to walking backwards with a china plate on your head through sand during a tsunami.
  4. I am agreeable three weeks out of four.
  5. Owning a gun is a sign of fear.
  6. Smiling thorough disagreements is harder and more rewarding than any run or downward dog.
  7. Working in is as necessary as working out.
  8. When you lose touch with your mentors, you lose touch with yourself.
  9. At 18 I wrote a two-page spread in my journal. All I wrote was BREATHE. Twenty-four years later, I’m still telling myself to BREATHE.

 

My son has ben singing Jingle Bells, and Ruldoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer this past week. These are songs he’s learned from daycare, songs I’ve buried in the childhood bin, coming back to the surface. 2015 has reminded me that working from fear is never a good thing, and that the magic of children’s imaginations is something that needs to be encouraged. I feel mixed that I’m going to particulate in creating the magic (lie) of Santa this year for my impressionable son. I’m thinking ahead to his reaction when he discovers the truth, how he might hate me, momentarily. In 2015, I smile at the notion of my parents creating and dancing around the story for us. This too is now my sharing – this intergenerational nod to keeping the secret, the mystery of Santa alive. But it’s not about Santa or faith as it is about the idea of magic and make-believe. It’s about giving ‘anonymously’ and watching happiness unfold. It’s about giving light to someone without expecting anything back.