I don't usually send two newsletters in a month, but at the end of a year like this, when everything has been just so very much, I decided you might permit me this little one to tuck in amongst the less lovely bits we're juggling. Here's the thing - I think we all know how hard this year was, so I don't want waste more space on that - our heads are holding enough of that, so I think it's fair to give our hearts a break.
What I really want to say is that in the midst of the mess, I found, and was given, some of the most dear gifts, of love, and grace, and time. I learned the magic of taking time off in the week, even when there was still so much left to do, of resting and rejoining the world with more patience and purpose. The screens that exhausted all of us also gave me the courage to join groups I'd been too timid to try for years (yes, years), and the practices and relationships that formed from those have been incredible. I asked for what I needed more, and (re)learned that catastrophizing life doesn't lessen its worries, but saps its strength. I took more walks, got to know more members of my community, made more phone calls, drew more, apologized more, and even through gritted teeth at times, forgave myself a little more.
If this year will teach us anything, it might just be the reminder that we don't have to weigh out our grief and our joy to see what's more worthy of holding - we can carry both. We can make a list of what helped our hearts to keep beating, and still lament all that's been lost. I have so much love for the Brandi from 2018 who was deep in the trenches of mourning and making a mess of things because it felt too hard to keep saying it was hard, but I also have even more love for the me now, who knows we don't have to choose, that we can be both gutted and grateful. We can share photos of that favorite spot in our home, our cup of tea, the funny shaped leaf, or the dog's bent ear, not because we don't know and feel that life is heavy and hard, but because of course it is - of course it is - and this is the way we get through, the tiny dots of joy that keep connecting us, keep reminding us to work on the bigger picture, even if we cannot begin to imagine what path is next.
We don't know what's ahead, I don't have a more lovely way to say that, so while we dream, and plan, and wish, I know many of us are still wondering what's going to surprise us next, but I hope the one thing that doesn't shock us is our ability to wrestle joy from the rubble. We have found light in the tunnel because we are that light, the beacon, be it ever so bright or dim at times, guiding each other home.
