Reflections on the Winter Solstice
Over the years, I have become increasingly open to believing that there are lessons being shared with us all the time. Whether they come from some higher power, from the internal wisdom that develops with time, or from becoming more mindful - they are all around us. We simply need to stop and listen, with open hearts and willing minds. For me, writing is often my portal to reflection. As I find myself sitting down to type, on the shortest day of the year - I feel an eagerness to reflect, a desire to listen, and an aching to find a lesson in all that is around us right now.
Many years ago, my friends and I sat in a park overlooking the East River. We had cheap wine, ample snacks, and stories to share. It was the Summer Solstice, and it seemed like the day might never end. I never wanted it to end. It was an evening full of joy, friendship, and possibility. I find myself here, years later, feeling the darkness of the winter approaching. The world has been hard recently, in so many ways. The uncertainty, the pain, and the divisiveness. And so many have suffered alone. I haven’t felt the feelings I felt that night in a long time, and I know I am not the only one.
As I sit in the stillness of the Winter Solstice, I find myself wanting again. Wanting to choose hope, wanting to believe that things will get better, and wanting to believe we will be able to see the humanity in all of us. I also find myself knowing. Knowing that we will navigate our way through these times, though only if we turn towards one another instead of away. Knowing that we must let compassion guide us. And remembering that, starting tomorrow, each day will become a little bit lighter. That is the beauty and magic of the solstice.
What I find interesting, is that as I write these words, I feel resistance to them. How can I possibly be optimistic when there is so much heartache in the world? Is it naive to remain hopeful, when it feels like something goes wrong every single day? What I do know for sure, is that it is okay to find hope, to choose optimism, and it does not mean turning away from the pain. In fact, it means running towards it. For that is where compassion lives.
I invite you to join me in seeing today as a turning point. Yes, things will probably continue to get worse before they get better. Yet each and every day will offer us a chance to see a little bit more light. To move with a little more love. To reach out and hold tight to one another (not literally of course - please socially distance!). To find humor where we can. To honor the resistance we might feel, and to remember that we are all doing our best. To find our way through, together. For I truly believe, that is the only way.
