Now, we get to start.

You can make a new year whenever you want.

“We fray into the future, rarely wrought

Save in the tapestries of afterthought.”

Year’s End, Richard Wilbur

It’s been a winter without snow, and I love the new year, but it felt like too-big boots this year, so I’ve been easing into it. I started all my little rituals in December and have let them linger on in January while I try some new habits on for size. It felt extremely luxurious, but also like something was missing. And then suddenly it snowed today, and everything about me let out a little sigh of relief. Real winter is like a weighted blanket for the soul, and nothing gives me the feeling of cooking in a cocoon of potential like being cozy in the house during a blizzard.

It’s very fashionable at the moment to rail against the tyrannies of resolutions, but after a very difficult year, it feels like a small miracle I get to start fresh. Of course, it’s all invented. The magic for me is in the very fact it’s all arbitrary. What better way to become a new person, than to grab someone you love or many someones or hold a vigil for your old self and then declare: now. Right now, it’s all new again. I’m holding on to that feeling as long as I can. It doesn’t feel like a trap, it feels like an opportunity.

Like I said, it’s been a difficult year. I frankly expect this coming one won’t be a walk in the park either. That’s ok. I put a lot of legwork into love this past year, so I tucked 2023 in with some satisfaction. I even don’t mind engaging in the frankly mortifying ritual of re-activating the newsletter again. I’m willing to believe that it’s worth sending out even one, and I can’t send more without sending one. I don’t know what trials or joys might derail me this year, but I’m willing to dwell in hope for at least the month of January.

The thing is, I wrote more this past year than ever before and hopefully, no one will see a lick of it, as it features so much ungratefulness and complaining. Due to the misfortune of having a brain inside my skull, I spent most of the year with a migraine (approximately 85% of it, if you do the math!) Eventually, with the help of exciting developments like decaf coffee and modern medicine, I returned to going outside and turning my head in multiple directions, two things I earnestly am very excited about for 2024. And now I get to use my skull for things like reading and thinking again instead of a decorative rest for several hot pads.

And so I’m very excited to make some resolutions, and also afraid to jinx it. Forgive me for mostly keeping them to myself, though some of them are bland (keep my kitchen counters clear) and some of them are silly (wear every pair of shoes I own once). I’ve occasionally had to declare “resolution bankruptcy” in the past and start over, but I can’t help trying to do something. I’ve decided I don’t mind feeling guilty when I fall short. I’d rather do a little better each time.

When snow arrives, the whole world has this bright, reflective shine to it. The light is just different. I used to know a snow day by the sun coming up over the hill — you could just tell the snow was dense enough to stop the world. I woke up this morning and saw that light. There was nothing to do today but appreciate it, the way it waylaid every plan, the way everything smelled like snow and wood smoke outside. It was the fresh start that had been itching at me. In my wool sweater throwing snowballs with the dog, it just felt so good to be outside, every sound lightly muffled by the drifts. I caught some flakes on my tongue. I did some chores, and I did some daydreaming. Bliss.

This is exactly when I want to set my intentions for the year — when everything is quiet. There’s not some other, better time when the world is awake and waiting. Hopefully, by that time, I’ll have put in a little legwork or had time to change my mind about what I want. While every other creature is resting, I am resting in the potential of all the things I could be this year. As far as I am concerned, the whole year is waiting under all that snow. I have at least until it melts to figure out what I want, and the rest of 2024 to do it.

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1. I hadn’t heard that poem before, and then suddenly this year it was all over my social media and in my inbox. Poetry is like that right now — old favorites sweep across the feeds like a fever. If you have other New Year’s (or fabric poems), I am all ears!

2. Given the shifting landscape of social media in the past year, you may see other kinds of writing come to this newsletter this year. I’m not quite sure what that might be, but I’d like to make space for my material culture writing, my quarterly mood boards, and other work that’s not just confined to nature writing. I encourage you to hang out and see what happens. (I am interested to see what happens as well.)

3. I do want to shout out a couple of wonderful newsletters I’ve been enjoying lately, including Luxe Libris, A La Carte, Wordloaf, and my perennial favorite From the Desk of Alicia Kennedy, all of which I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks!