As I begin this blog, it is New Year's Day, and it is snowing. Looking out the window, I see white covering the ground, our pond, and the branches of our fir trees. It's mesmerizing to watch the flakes falling and see how their size and velocity change with wind and in time from a flutter to a whiteout. Gusts of wind whirl the snow up into the air around the conifers by the pond and then rest on the ground to be lifted again—a metaphor of life, my mind? I appreciate the warmth of our house and being inside rather than out in its midst. The other day, we had a brief glimpse of an animal that we thought was a bobcat. It left tracks in the snow on the pond, which confirmed it was a bobcat. Our neighbors have had coyote sightings, and sometimes our deer wander through the yard, but there are no animals today. It is too blustery. Maya, our dog, very sensibly decided to sleep in this morning and is quite content to remain on the bed until my husband gets up. I have placed food out for her, and her doggie door is available, but she is not venturing out. I am the only one up in our house, and I am savoring the stillness and freshness of the day. Our morning walk can wait. I am content to welcome the new year with silence and feel the peace of the morning.
The night before was New Year's Eve, and earlier that day, I had an endoscopy. As I’ve aged, my esophagus has narrowed, and every few years I have it dilated so it is wider. It is a simple procedure, and all went well, but it left me drowsy. I slept much of the day but was up to greet 2026 and watch TV for the countdown to 2026; it’s a tradition. I remember my parents having a New Year’s Eve party with their friends and sneaking down from my bedroom to watch them from the stairs greet the New Year. When I moved out, they’d call me at midnight to wish me a good year. This ended, and they are no longer alive, but the memory continues, as does the feeling of connection. Now I text people to wish them a happy New Year and get texts in return. I watch the sparkling ball in Times Square go down and the mobs of people in Times Square celebrating. I note how young they seem. Now, staying up past 9:30 is an effort, but marking a change in time continues to be important to me.
I find the solstice, and the turning of the calendar year, a time for reflection. I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I have been re-examining my priorities and investigating whether the congruence between my values and how I am living is present. I took a course this year on the Paramitas. In Buddhism, these are values often translated as perfections that enable one to go beyond (suffering) to the other shore (liberation). They are generosity, ethics, patience, effort, meditation, and wisdom, but can also include renunciation, truthfulness, resolve, and loving-kindness/equanimity. All lead to greater compassion and wisdom. Each month, this study group met and reflected on a particular quality and examined what it meant for us. Initially, I signed up to do this because my brother was teaching it, and I enjoy being with him and sharing our practice of meditation. Bob and I are quite different, but we laugh sometimes at the fact that both of us became psychotherapists and also have a meditation practice and teach it. We have parents in common, and certainly, both of us have shared suffering, but for different reasons. It has taken effort, patience, and kindness for us both to quiet our minds and hearts enough to truly listen and respect each other and be friends as well as siblings. I feel lucky we can challenge each other, laugh, and trust each other for support. Liberation is a lofty aspiration, but one we both take seriously. It is a lifelong challenge.
As I age and confront illness, loss, and death, a good friend of mine died this year, and others have become ill. I value my relationships more than ever, and they extend beyond my circle of loved ones. We are all connected. Our relationships are the grease between the wheels of change. Winds will gust, and storms will come and go. May we cultivate the qualities that nourish wisdom and compassion. On my wall is a magnet that says, Peace is not freedom from the storm but peace within it.
