“I fold the good days up and place them in my back pocket for safekeeping. Draw the match. Cremate the unnecessary. The light of the fire warms my toes. I pour myself a glass of hot water to cleanse myself for January. Here I go. Stronger and wiser into the new.” -Rupi Kaur
Dear 2016:
We didn’t really start off on good terms. On your first day, I woke up dizzy but surrounded by humans that I was sure would stay. Some of these folks stuck around. Others did not. I had no way of knowing then that this was a sign of things to come.
In retrospect, the dizziness never really subsided. You were tying my shoes before I had the chance to put them on. I rushed through parts of you and didn’t recognize the full gravity you carried each day, at least not until the day was deep into turning to the next. By the time I could see it, a fresh slate was before me and I was forced to move on. I’ve always lagged behind when it comes to letting go.
You brought heartbreak after heartbreak to some of my closest people, me included. So much hurting. So much healing. I don’t know if I should be fiercely abrasive and standoffish at the thought of you or grateful that you were able to bring such honest realizations to the people around me when they were least expecting it.
It often felt as if you tweeted my secrets to the world even after you swore to keep every last one of them to yourself. I should have known that sometimes secrets are meant to be told, even after promises are spoken into existence.
You were ripe with moments of conflict and clarity in my heart. Courage came and went (and came back). Love grew and dwindled (and grew again).
You brought a sea of change: a quarter of a century of life; a sustainable writing project; a Master’s degree; a new home; people coming and going and coming and going; a shift in perspective(s); growth that hasn’t yet been recognizable.
There’s magic in the things (read: people) you brought into my life. Several of these things (people) have taught me how to create a space for myself, how to allow grace in all moments, how to love despite reasons not to, how to choose myself.
Personal peace (“self-care”) became more prevalent of a practice. YouTube videos and Spotify have been mainstays. One-on-one meetings continued to give me life each week, not only with students, but with friends and colleagues. You’ve helped me realize that I prefer to skip the small talk and move right into the heart of things. The weather outside has never been as fascinating as the weather of our minds. Politics of the world isn’t as scintillating as politics of the heart. This life we live every single day deserves encouragement. Small talk is rarely the way.
In the span of your time, I realized that I’m giving away pieces of myself to every person that I love. I don’t give myself enough grace, or time, or space to be who I am and accept where I’m at. I sometimes want things to be perfect and so I’m trying to be patient and realize that one day at a time, while it’s slow, it’s worth the wait. It’s a journey that I need to be better about being grateful for, not just the end result of something.
Even when you persisted in the fight to tear my seams away from my skin, I worked to rise higher and learned how to sew stitch after stubborn stitch as I go. This isn’t a perfect practice for me–some of these stitches come loose, some fall apart, but some hold. I suppose this is a practice in healing.
What I now know is that, even when things seem to get really hard and it feels like I can’t possibly keep going, there will still be work to do. There will still be people to encourage. Still piles of love to give away to flight attendants, gas station cashiers, tire changers, brothers and sisters and fathers that we haven’t talked to in years, even ourselves.
Gosh, I’m really glad you’re ending.
But more than that, I’m grateful for the things you illuminated for me, the things you moved out of my purview, and how much you’ve allowed my heart to grow. I’ll take what you’ve given me into the new and continue to build this thing called life with hope on my fingertips and love at every step.
With love,
RFW
Greetings, 2017.
We haven’t met yet. I have a strange feeling that we’ll have a good opportunity to get to know one another in the coming days. Although I’m nervous for the mysteriousness you carry with you, I’m slowly learning that having faith, even with the unknown, is to walk confidently into every piece of darkness while never letting go of the light. Light expands when you give it the space to.
I hope you turn me away from any lack of love. In a world spinning a web of intention to grab at everyone’s throat, I’m coming straight for the heart. You will pass me by and will, at times, render me feeling hopeless, worthless, or questioning my ability to love. I’m here to tell you I’ll observe it. Like clouds in the sky, I’ll watch you pass through. And because of you, I’ll know what it means to love without an agenda.
If you bruise me, I will give myself grace in healing. I’ll allow the mess to show me how to come home to myself. I will embrace the vulnerability that discoloring presents.
I will sit in the joys you bring and I will cry harder when the tears come. In peeling back the layers of myself, I’ll learn how important it will be for my future children to see a father who is constantly working to understand his emotions, and the emotions of those he loves deeply. Even when others are intimidated by this, I’ll take it in stride. We are emotional beings; pushing that away from me will only make it more difficult to love deeper, I’ll remind myself.
I will build stillness into the thick of the chaos that you’ll surely bring me. Stillness looks a lot like walks. Meditation. Reading when I feel I don’t have the time and writing when it’s the last thing I want to do, and daydreaming. So much daydreaming.
I’ll carry every year before this into you with a clear heart. Though I don’t yet know what’s in store for me, I will work to understand you and your relation to me with every step. I’ll remind myself how important it is to shift, to give thanks, to transform, and to let go of the heavy things I carry.
With love,
RFW
R. Francis Williford 