24 Days of Making, Doing, and Being: December 1
Kicking off a season of light and warmth.
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Here we are. December 1st. The beginning of this daily calendar, and the beginning of a special season.
Last year I gifted myself Anja Dunk’s beautiful book Advent. Of this time of the year, she writes, “it’s such a big part of our life each year that we treat it as a fifth season. It starts on the fourth Sunday before Christmas and sits snugly in between autumn and the winter solstice (give or take a day or two).”
I also like to see these weeks as their own season.
I read recently about the Japanese tradition of microseasons, 72 different pockets of time that offer a way of looking at the year through more gradual transitions, ones rooted in the natural cycles.
Marking this moment as its own season does a little bit of that as well.
You may have many reasons for coming to this season of Advent, and for me it is light and warmth. As we inch our way towards winter solstice, we’re waiting for the light to return. In other months, light and warmth are offered to us by way of nature, but in this season of darker, colder days, we must seek out and conjure them ourselves.
We must find the sun peeking through the branches, we must take a moment to notice the early afternoon shadows, we must bundle up and face the stars and moon in the night. We must light the candle, we must kindle the fire, we must bring color to the gray days. This is a lesson for winter, but also, any moment of darker times.
Viewing this as a season unto itself, rather than a countdown to a singular day, opens up the room for small celebrations throughout—little glimmers and pockets of light. That’s what I hope this calendar can be for you.
I also know that this season can be ladened with expectations. There is a pressure put upon the weeks ahead to be a certain way, look a certain way, taste a certain way. There is so much we feel we should do. Those shoulds can break us, they can burn us out. And when they do, what we want can easily become very different from what we get.
For finding the space for the small celebrations in this season, for cultivating the light and the warmth, let’s start with figuring out our seasonal compass. A compass is different than a checklist. It is an aide in helping to guide the way, helping to push you in a certain direction, and pull you back if you’ve gone off course.
I used a similar prompt last year, inspired by one written by Skye Baynes on The Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad. I wanted to come back to it this year to kick us off, as a way to identify not what we will do, but how we want to be.
Let’s start this season with this question:
What do you want this season to feel like?
We live in a culture that doesn’t really trust feelings, but I am constantly reminded that checking in with how we feel (both emotionally and physically) is often the best guidance for how to proceed.
What are the emotions that feel essential in the weeks ahead?
What state of being would you like to experience in this season?
This is your seasonal compass. The focal point which helps to bring a little clarity, which helps you determine whether to say yes or no, which guides your rituals and routines, which helps you to honor the small pockets of time, which helps you to bring in a little more of the light.
-Anna
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Thank you for the use of the word compass. I am seeing in my mind an enchanted piece of fabric that folds and catches the wind and is decorated with all the things that will guide this season. Candles, warm beverages, smell of fir trees, special people, music, laughter and so much more. Thank you.
I’m approaching the holiday season with dread. It’s been a year since my father had a stroke and almost four months since he died. I’ve been traveling almost every other week to stay with my 92-year old mother, to provide company and help around the house. I have been away from my own home this year than I’ve been a there. I feel unmoored and very cranky.
I want to feel my sparkle and sense of humor return. I want to resume some kind of creative practice (even writing has become difficult). I want to feel like my like has returned to whatever normal was. I want to feel compassion and love again. I want to feel ease.