I dropped four rolls of film off today and marveled with the man who collected them about the fact that he’s already versed in writing 19 at the end of the date. Just this morning I thought about how I’m always terrible at transitioning the year in writing. Just a few months ago I’m pretty sure I claimed it was 2016. What is time anyway, really?
On new years eve I went to bed at 10:30 and only woke up briefly to the sound of fireworks, sleepily grateful for the morning dew and the promise of moisture in the air protecting us from idiots lighting the neighborhood on fire. I haven’t made “resolutions,” but I’ve silently pondered my intentions for this year. Personally, I don’t know how much weight I place on the calendar outside of it’s correlation to astrology, meaning that I feel I’m constantly setting intentions and my most potent intention incubations generally happen around my birthday, not the “official” new year. I get that it’s been 365 and one fully rotation around the sun, but every day is 365 days and a full rotation around the sun from itself. So, I don’t know who invented this system of dates (no, I haven’t researched it) or why January first is so important. I also think that the fact that we’re running on a before and after Christ clock (I know, I know, it’s “BCE” now to be politically correct) shows how ingrained colonization is into our very metric of time and history. So, seriously, what is time anyway? Why was it more important to set intentions on Monday than it will be on Saturday when we’ll have a new moon and a partial solar eclipse, both exceptionally powerful portals for manifestation? Just questions I don’t necessarily have the answer to. I’ll probably sit down on Saturday and do the real nitty-gritty work of intention setting, I’m actively learning to use the moon as a tool for transformation, so new year or not I’d be using a new moon to set intentions and a full moon to let go and step into the light. Or maybe I’m just trying to make excuses for not writing them on Monday or not writing this yesterday. Maybe a little bit of both.
For whatever a year is worth, 2018 was my tenth and final year in Los Angeles. I already have boxes full of books and craft supplies piled in a corner of the living room, looking around I’m still overwhelmed by how much I have to pack or get rid of. A little at a time, I tell myself, a little at a time and it will all get done. With each book taken off the shelf and stacked into it’s genre-specific box I feel myself falling into this in-between. Between where I’ve been and where I’m going. Between who I am and who I am becoming. I sit looking at my already filled boxes thinking about the fact that this time last year I would have never guessed I would be packing up my life here and venturing off on my own. I had no idea it was possible to actualize an entire overhaul of my five-year relationship with my partner to create a new reality that provides more room for both of our freedom and individuality. I had no idea that I would travel to 3 countries for drastically different reasons and learn fundamental lessons about myself in the process. I didn’t think I would be finally setting firm boundaries in my relationship to my father and deepening my bond with my sisters. I didn’t set out to meet the incredible people that have come into my life and I would have never guessed it was possible to love my day-ones even more that I did in 2017, 2016, 2015… I would have told you you were crazy if you said at the beginning of this year I would be finding the words to say goodbye to the place and people that protected and raised me from adolescence into adulthood. And yet, here I am. Grateful for every single glorious and terrible moment that brought me from last January until now. For every sunset and morning walk, every time I’ve touched the ocean or laid in emerald grass. For every plant I have come into relationship with and every spirit that has guided me through waves of grief, anger, resentment, ecstasy, wonderment and joy. For every human who has held me accountable or has taught me that not everyone will live up to my standards. For every animal, bird and insect that has made me smile through their simple and persistent existence. For every moment of beauty and every moment of pain. I am grateful beyond words.
I have no idea what 2019 will truly have in store for me. I have no idea where I’ll be placing these books once they’ve been unpacked. It is, however, my goal to be an active participant in shaping the changes that will inevitably lead me through this next year of evolutionary growth. Because that’s all we can ever count on: change (thanks Octavia E. Butler for ingraining this into my psyche). How we interact with that change is up to us.