I recently heard someone mention how sad it was that Beethoven couldn't hear his own masterpieces. Can you imagine creating the 7th Symphony and then not be able to hear it?!? Recent events in my life have made me very sympathetic to that- pain that comes from not ever being able to enjoy something you have created. I wonder then what exactly it was that made him mad. Was it the inability to hear the fruits of his talent? Was it that he was an artist to such a degree that he couldn't relate to the mundane?
At the end of every year, I get really introspective and pretty much shut down completely to the outside world. It's like I create my own winter inside so all that magic that is supposed to be born of its darkness and stillness can happen inside of me despite all the sameness of the external environment in which I live. "Endless Summer" is a term that only sounds sexy.
This winter of my personal discontent, I have shut down more than normal. So much so that lately I find myself constantly asking, "Am I doing this right? Am I playing well with others? Am living authentically to my purpose? What IS my purpose?" Questions I often ask myself so much more in the time right before the switch gets flipped into the new year, but ones that I check in with constantly between inhales and exhales on any given day.
Time and time again, I often feel like I belong on the moon. After all, she knows how to live cyclically; she understands the wholeness that is the combination of light and dark. She hangs alone in the sky. Nobody ever told her being alone was bad, unfortunate, or a consequence. Nobody ever told her she was bad, unfortunate, or a consequence. Alone is good. She is good. As good as anything else is and yet completely incomparable.
I don't have any new year's resolutions. The only thing I know I want from the following year is for more words to flow and more music. Whether this is the year I start writing my book, or blog more, or journal more, or create more podcasts. Whether I join a band or jam or just sing along with my uke more. The truth has always been this: when I wake up I feel like a singer and writer. But a singer sings and a writer writes.I don't even care if I'm good at it or not. So, let me start again now. Who needs to wait two weeks? So, here's this blog post and later this week I'll jam with one of my girlfriends. Now, now, now, now, now, now, now. NOW.
2016... the year I learned to play the ukulele, the year my family first ate something we slaughtered ourselves, the year I turned my last 30, the year I lost a baby, the year of wearing my hair long, and the year I met more of myself than I ever have in all the years combined.
Happy New Year, everyone. 2017 may be "better" or not. But whatever it is, I promise it will be new.