year of questions.
oh no, another New Years post!/one full year of mothering in list-form, plus a yoga class for your New Years Day.
There are years that ask questions, and years that answer.
—Zora Neale Hurston
2023 was chock-full of questions.
Actually, wait— so was 2022, and 2021, and 2020.
As much as I would LOVE for 2024 to be a year that answers back, the homework of my life1 seems to be accepting uncertainty and slipping into the shimmery gown of faith.
I get the whole, resolutions are dumb, it’s just another day vibe, but I like New Years. I like reflecting and orienting myself towards the next thing. I like recalibrating, I like taking stock, and most of all, I like the prospect of transformation, slow, small, and earnest though it may be.
So here’s my list, my highlight reel, the glimmers, glares and moonless tunnels of 2023.
2023 marked my first full year of motherhood, and it was this year that I fully, wholeheartedly embraced it— but it took an entire postpartum year, some therapy and a spacious “crossing the threshold” ceremony with some trusted lady friends before I could do so.
I turned 30 on Long Island, the same place where I was born.
I watched my daughter grow from a curious crawler into a tenacious, shiny, spirited, impressively coordinated 18 month old.
My daughter turned 1 at one of my favorite places, a farm where I used to live and work. I did not really have a celebration for her. I feel sort of guilty about that.
I watched her learn to stand in January, and walk in May. She said her first word, clapped for the first time, did her first twirl, went down her first slide, waved her first wave, kissed her first kiss, danced her first dance this year, along with so many other firsts.
I carried my baby on my back all over town, up and down hills, on dirt paths and paved roads, through stores and cities, to coffee shops and concerts, through farmers markets, sculpture gardens, airports and the National Mall… and once, while helping a friend herd his sheep! I am sure we walked hundreds of miles this way.
I went to two bluegrass festivals with my baby. We camped with her for 4 nights and it went so well.
I took mandolin lessons and learned how to read music again.
I watched two of my friends get married.
I spent my first night away from my daughter, she was 9 months old and it was weird and kind of nice and I slept horribly.
I continued to breastfeed, with joy and ease, all year long. I am grateful and proud of this.
I traveled to NY, NJ, NM, FL, SC, DC and got really good at doing airports with a baby.
I went on my first real postpartum hike with my daughter.
I went on my first real postpartum run alone.
I drank an unspeakable number of iced oat milk lattes.
My husband and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary and, of the 8 years we have been together, faced our most difficult year yet.
I was nap trapped for dozens of delicious hours.
I tromped through the woods and swam in the ocean.
I started craniosacral therapy and that was cool.
I celebrated my first Mother’s Day.
I talked to my sister on the phone almost every day.
I fell down the rabbit hole of birth and lactation work and found unexpected passion and interest there, as well as pain, grief and confusion.
I started my morning pages practice up again, and wrote thousands of words.
I published thousands of those words on Substack, in the form of 30 different essays. Some of them I love, some of them I don’t.
I started teaching yoga again, sometimes as often as 4x a week; this helped me feel useful in old, familiar ways.
I started cooking creatively, and for pleasure, again.
I applied for a bunch of “normal” jobs.
I hung art on the walls and rearranged the furniture a gazillion times.
I started helping my neighbor with his pizza business.
I started shadowing an IBCLC.
I went to 2 networking events and wanted to die.
My baby slept through the night TWICE, and then never again.
I have both loved and hated cosleeping this year, but never regretted doing it.
We switched to a floor bed, which, I mean, wow-- life really can be so much easier.
I went on an organizational kick and started putting things in rainbow order and categorizing the food in my fridge with labeled plastic bins— off brand but fun.
I tried really, really hard to start several projects that just fell completely flat.
I signed off Instagram.
My dog died.
I made new friends, I reconnected with old ones, and in general felt more social this year than I ever have in my entire life.
I ruminated, I spiraled, I sobbed, I yelled.
I watched my body re-integrate, re-allocate, and renew itself, like magic.
I really wanted to be pregnant again, and then I didn’t.
I continued to look fruitlessly beyond myself for answers and reassurance and acceptance.
But also got better at trusting myself.
And got to know myself better.
If I had to sum up my year in three words, they would be: integration, joy, doubt.
Or maybe they would just be: I don’t know.
I questioned every aspect of my life this year. I felt more uncertainty and doubt than ever before. I am trying to love the questions; to live them. I remain completely and utterly confused about so much, so often— except about being Addie's mom.
more
radical honesty, generosity, courage, ferocity, writing, opening to joy, hikes, work, spaciousness, learning.
less
people-pleasing, apologizing, screen time, urgency for urgency’s sake, hiding.
and…
may 2024 be the year that I take *pristine* care of the cast irons, revive my sourdough stater, and donate more breastmilk.
Beannacht: A Blessing for the New Year
by John O’Donahue
On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets in to you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green,
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.
Wishing you nourishment, clarity, fluency and protection. Everything that you love is wrapping around you, whether this next year is one of painful mystery or one that hints at the answers.
Happy New Year.
Berlin
PS- Paid subscribers, scroll down for a New Year’s slow flow class (feat. the tiniest 1st trimester baby bump, aw) <3
PPS- meditation for beginners starts next Sunday, Jan. 7th! I would love if you’d join us Sunday mornings in January for some short n sweet community meditation practices — and I do mean practice :)