Newsletters I Loved
This first one is short, and the poem really reflects what I’ve learned about slowing down and reconnecting with wonder.
This is a little longer and reflects the need to cross things off the list. I quite enjoyed the line “We’re being invited by our natural environment to rest, to go inward. And yet. ‘Tis the season that we, as a society, go batshit mental.” LOL.
I remember a few years back when I spent all of December anticipating Christmas Day, imagining the joy I would feel when it arrived. I think it was when Declan was a year or two old (or that first Christmas of Covid? I can’t recall), and I had a renewed sense of the holiday season as a mom wanting to live the magic through her babe’s eyes. I also recall feeling really empty when everything slowed down and he had gone to bed that night. I had pinned so much on that one day, had expected it to provide a sense of deep fulfilment, and the disappointment was hard to bear.
I may not remember which year it was, but I do remember that it marked a change for me. I had ostensibly done all (or at least most) of the things that are generally expected of parents at Christmastime—the cards, the gifts, the foods, the advent calendar, the advent readings, the candles, the gathering, and on and on—to make the season magical, and yet I found myself totally let down.
The next year I felt that disappointment in my bones and was very timid about putting any sort of pressure on the day to feel like anything other than another day. I fully anticipated being let down again, but was surprised to find that when I relaxed my expectations and stopped fervently chasing ‘The Magic of the Season,’ I allowed more space to be present with the wonder ordinary magic—filling the house with ambient lighting, reading books with a blanket and a babe napping in my arms, getting chilly outdoors and the glorious feeling of warming up inside, freezing coloured water in balloons and releasing beautiful orbs the next day, skating on the lake while pulling Declan on his sled behind us, spreading snow paint all over the yard and creating portals to new worlds.
This sense of wonder doesn’t live behind all the ‘doing;’ it was only through stopping the hustle to be with what was already there that I started to regain a new understanding of what I wanted the season to feel like. I couldn’t fabricate it, hard as I tried. I just needed to be present enough to see it happening. Isn’t this just the story of my entire life right now? Anyone else?
The longer I spend time caring for children, the more I’m able to tune into this feeling of wonder in my everyday life. I’ve found myself fascinated by their abilities to live totally present in their own skin, without the judgements that seem to inevitably take over at some point in a person’s life and make them start living by everyone else’s rules. Myself included.
The antidote? I spend more time noticing. This is a tenet of mindfulness, meditation, yoga, and other intentional practices, but that’s exactly what it is—a practice. It’s meant to make its way into our everyday lives, even when there’s chaos and fear and uncertainty—especially when there’s chaos and fear and uncertainty. Noticing the curiousity of a child; the plant growing in a dark corner; the sunlight pushing shadows further down my neighbour’s house; the feeling of disappointment that comes with unmet expectations. Noticing holds no judgement, it simply witnesses.
So, friends, all I can say is that, as the natural world is slowing down, I hope you slow down with it. When your mind feels more tired than usual, I hope you allow it guilt-free space to rest. When you feel the tension of forced generosity and the capitalist agenda of consuming more and more, I hope you find the quiet joy of less. And when you feel your to-do list growing longer, I hope you reflect on what your people really need and let go of the rest—your toilet may be dirty, but really, a clean toilet doesn’t equal magic1.
In this moment, what do you notice?
What stories are you telling yourself about this season?
What ordinary magic invites wonder for you?
This is a note to myself, as my toilet is currently gross. But I’m reminding myself that it’s okay if I just take that off my list until next year—even though we will be hosting family and friends over the coming week and it almost kills me to not have a perfect hosting space.
I love this! I'm also so inspired by my children's ability to be so completely in the present moment. And thanks for sharing my piece! ❤️
I love your reminder to sync with the seasons - “ as the natural world is slowing down, I hope you slow down with it.”