Two years ago today, I decided to give my room a good cleaning. My way of starting out the new year fresh. I opened the windows, changed the sheets on my bed, put things in their proper places (or at least in a drawer where they could be dealt with "later"), and did it all to the sound of old timey 1920s jazz coming from my clock radio (thank you, NPR!). One of the very last spaces I tackled was my bookcase.
Besides my sacred collection of books that I hardly ever read, my bookcase also served as an altar of sorts. No, I didn't make offerings or kneel before it, but the articles and objects held a special significance, or so I thought. Candles of different sizes and scents, an incense burner, an oil diffuser, wooden carvings and small figurines, all found their way to the space somehow. I held onto them for so long that I stopped contemplating the reasons for their existence.
In my cleaning, I decided to remove everything to give the space a good dusting. After I had scraped away as much caked up dust and candle wax as possible, I started to put things back in their place. But then I hit a snag: I couldn't remember where it all went! I decided to rearrange them instead, which wasn't a foreign concept in this case. However, I found that even this was a daunting task. There was so much stuff, and it was hard to figure out where it all should go. So, I started from scratch. I pulled everything off again, then chose the pieces that spoke the most to me, the ones that I was drawn to. There was no logic involved, just feeling. As I went through this process, I realized that what I wanted instead was more space, more room to see and interact with everything, not more things to interact with. There was a feeling of lightness and openness in this act of letting go. And from this feeling came the idea of what I wanted in the new year.
I had long given up on new years' resolutions. I, like many, failed to complete what I had set out to do. So, each year, it was "I resolve to make no resolutions." (Ironically, the following day, 1-1-12, I resolved that I was going to buy and learn how to play the ukulele. I managed to follow through with the first half of it at least. But that's another story.) But as I was reorganizing my altar, a new idea came through: what if, each year, I chose a theme or an intention rather than a resolution? It wouldn't necessarily be something that I would have to keep in mind every day, but it would be something that informed how I looked at the life I was living. In this particular instance, it came to me almost without thinking: Create space. This notion of "creating space" was not unfamiliar to me, as it was often used in the yoga classes I attended at the time. There was frequent talk of "creating space" within the body for the breath to move; "creating space" in the mind; "creating space" for emotions long buried to come through. The theme fit perfectly, much like the objects that I chose to remain on my altar.
Throughout that year, I found the theme arising on its own, showing itself to me in various ways: letting go of relationships, letting go of a job that had not suited me for a long time, cleaning out my physical space, letting go of ideas of how my future would play out, and so on. I created space for the good things to come through, for the surprises to come in (some in more pleasant ways than others). It wasn't always easy, but it proved useful. I was able to let go of the life, and the people, that I knew, and embark on a new adventure all the way across the country. It allowed me to immerse myself in a new life: a graduate program, new friends, new experiences...
So, because this idea of a theme for the year worked so well the first time, I gave it another try this past year. This time, it was similar to the first, but different in its own way. I chose "Recreate". But the result wasn't the same as the last time. I didn't notice how the theme of re-creation came to play in my life. I even forgot what the theme was for a while. But, looking back, I can see some places where it did arise. I re-created the vision of what relationships should look like. I re-created the version of myself that I thought I knew. I re-created my perceptions of others. I did this all unconsciously, and that's fine with me. Maybe that's what needed to happen.
Which brings us to this year. I think, a lot of times, resolutions are about trying to achieve our highest self. We need to stop smoking, stop drinking so much or altogether, enrich our minds, enrich our relationships, take care of our bodies, etc. But instead of phrasing it in terms of "need" or "should", why not look at it from another perspective? Why not see these goals, these attempts, as a way to express and experience love for ourselves? I don't mean this in a solipsist sense, and I certainly don't encourage the self-indulgent mindset that seems to permeate our culture. I mean real love. Love that challenges, pushes, but is also compassionate and forgiving. Love which understands limits, but is limitless in its abundance.
It is with this in mind that I have decided on my theme for the new year: Self-love. My intention is to examine my words, my actions, my ideas, and my relationships through this lens. Instead of setting a weight loss goal, I'll ask myself if the choices I am making are showing love to my body. Instead of setting the goal of a certain number of dates, or even becoming involved in a relationship, I will ask if the people I involve myself with show the care and respect for me that I deserve to show myself. Instead of berating myself for not studying harder, I will ask if my procrastination served a purpose, or if my actions were in line with the larger goals I have for myself.
Resolutions are about strict and formulaic goals, but themes are about perspectives and looking to the road ahead. Intention isn't about what we do, but how we look at what we do. Intentions and themes inform our lives, and can subsequently enrich them. In the end there isn't the same sense of accomplishment that may come from a resolution, but instead a sense of deeper knowledge of the self. It is more subtle in its expression, but also more deeply felt.
We shall see how the theme for this year plays out. I may even post an update or two. Until then, happy new year.
