2022 in review, sort of

And now we come to the end of another year of challenges. Why does this year feel so hard, I often wondered, as though its difficulties were not ones I faced every day. This year I worked at two jobs at a time (and occasionally more), took two classes each term, including the summer term, and wrote my capstone, a year-long project that somehow gets crammed into one term—all while trying to give two children the love and attention they need. Meanwhile, collectively we decided we need “swagger,” not care.

Yesterday I drafted a year in review, much like the one I wrote last year, but accounting for myself in that way (so many essays and poems written or published, so many miles run, and so on) seems beside the point this year. Not that I’ve found a point. Just questions. What for me is rest? What is care? How can I best care for myself, my family, friends, and community? Questions I’ve been asking for some time.

No tally can account for myself this year, nor do I seem able to piece together a narrative to do so either. Can I write without settling on a narrative, or answers, or (god forbid) lessons to be learned and shared? Can I write, can I live, in the questions?

How does the end of this year find you? What are your questions?

And many blessings to you in 2023. May all beings be at ease! xox

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