I pull the wool cap down over my ears and knot the scarf. Swallow the lump in my throat, jam my hands deep into my pockets and step out into the searing blue sun of a late winter afternoon. It is time, finally, to be honest with each other, something I don't always believe in, the truth being so slippery and easily obscured by obstacles in our own hearts and minds. It is hard to see things as they really are and to name them correctly in the moment. It is hard to hear each other well.
I let this wash over me, stinging my skin like ice crystals: You didn't do it right.
Draw back the arrow and release: Why did you change?
Frozen ground crunches under our feet and there is one truth I believe as it swims up in front of my teary eyes: you are you and I am me, and there is no talking either of us out of that. I can see my breath. I see our story stretched out on a gossamer thread, behind us and before us. Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is only the middle, I see.
So we do this: accept, and keep creating our story.
This is the word that keeps coming up for me, as I contemplate what to set as intention and guide for 2013:
This is a year to own my own story, and to receive others' stories in nuance, acceptance and fullness. It is a time to study the elements of story and to improve my facility with them. I aspire to strengthen my storytelling both in my professional life and here, in my personal work. I will return to my reading life, my bedside table stacked high with books waiting to be loved. I will write and shoot in an effort to illuminate the threads that hold us together.
I am afraid to make any claims about honesty but I believe there's truth in the story, and I hope that will guide me through the coming year.