Both/And in 2020

I don’t know why I’m writing this as I have nothing significant to say.

Yet, the writer in me feels compelled to share something, to craft some kind of message that will be uplifting or inspiring.

Especially at the end of a year. And the beginning of another.

We humans tend to love our milestones. Significant birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, the New Year. They are the markers that give us perspective.

We pause, step back and celebrate, or grieve, what has been. What might be. What could still be.

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This past year was painful for many. For me.

I lost my dear father on Father’s Day after helping to care for him for six years. Others I know have also lost loved ones or have family members who have been diagnosed with a serious illness.

There also have been happy events this past year. My niece got married, another niece and her husband are expecting their second child. And thanks to a dear friend, I actually managed a trip to Havana, Cuba, in the midst of caring for dad. https://marielena-zuniga.com/the-suitcase-of-the-soul/

No matter a new year ahead or an old one behind, this human journey is never an EITHER/OR — but BOTH/AND.

We will have both sorrow and joy; tears and laughter; doubts and faith.

At the end of one of my favorite movies, Shadowlands, writer C.S. Lewis says:

“Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore. Only the life I have lived. Twice in that life I’ve been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chooses safety, the man chooses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That’s the deal.”

The pain is part of the happiness. The love is part of the loss. The doubt is part of the faith. One cannot exist without the other.

That’s the deal.

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I hope to continue writing in the new year — hopefully this blog — but I also want to spread my wings and begin to tackle a novel (or novels) that have been hibernating for too long. 

I’m going forward in faith even though I’m not sure I can do this, make the transition from non-fiction writer to fiction.

So I’m holding on to the words of one of my favorite writers Anne Lamott:

“I heard a preacher say recently that hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work; you don’t give up.”

I have been waiting and watching a long time. Now I work. I’m going to show up. Not give up. And I pray the dawn comes.

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I don’t know what 2020 holds. I pray it cradles us all gently. I hope it comforts us with kindness and ease.

For my part, I do hope to find more faith this year, more trust in a benevolent loving force — give it whatever name you want — who is always FOR me, not against me. Wants only good for me, no matter how it looks or feels.

Even as I step into the days ahead, however, I know I will experience life in its fullness.

And many times for me that means being afraid. I have no certainty about what’s ahead, none at all. That often frightens the child in me who wants safety, an assuredness that it will all be OK.

So for myself — and for you — I share more of Lamott’s words, of both fear and faith, in the hope we can be at peace with “what is” — no matter what it is.

“I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me–that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.” 

May we all have the faith to notice the mess and be OK with it. To dwell in uncertainty. Until the light returns. Until the dawn comes again. Because it will.

Happy New Year, my friends.