Looking back on 2023
What worked, what didn't, and the books that have been on my mind
Reading the highlights and lowlights from others over the past week has gotten my wheels turning as I look back on the year. The uncomplicated nature of a What worked (And What Didn’t) list feels especially hospitable for public consumption, though I’ve found Rule of Life questions from
and personally helpful for private reflection. So here I am on the last day of the year, pounding the keys, looking back, making my own list in no particular order, and adding a few books that have stuck with me in 2023.What worked:
Spiritual direction: I began meeting monthly with a spiritual director over zoom starting in February of this year. It has truly been transformative to have someone help me listen to the Spirit, to bring in a witness to help me pay attention to the work that God is doing and inviting me into.
Hiking: Since moving to Tennessee I have been routinely hiking the trails at the Warner Parks and Radnor Lake State Park. Becoming familiar with a new set of routes, paying attention them in different seasons, and slowly increasing my mileage has been a stabilizing source of joy in a chaotic season.
Cutting back on caffeine: For the first eleven months of the year (yes, eleven) I was drinking two to three cups of coffee or caffeinated tea per day, and simultaneously struggling with overwhelming physical symptoms of anxiety. I finally decided to cut back to one cup of coffee per day (along with restarting my adrenal support supplements), and have noticed huge improvements. Turns out I feel better when I listen to my limitations.
Using a water bottle: One of my senior nursing students gave me a Slim water bottle as a “thank you” back in March and I have never been more hydrated.
Communal rhythms of the liturgical year: Since stepping into Anglicanism in early 2022 I have found such sweetness in being carried through the year with more points of seasonal contact than just Christmas and Easter. I have relished the different seasons of fasting and feasting, the moments of confession and of celebration, the services of lament and adoration, and I have been so encouraged in experiencing it all within community.
Poetry workshops: Before moving to Tennessee, I joined a small group of poets I knew in Boston who met together to share and critique one another’s poetry. It was the first time I intentionally shared the poems I was working on. Terrified as I was, these seasoned poets were incredibly gracious to me. Since I moved we have continued to meet sporadically over zoom. It has been sweet to see growth and to have the privilege of laying eyes on the carefully crafted drafts of others.
Traveling with friends: I had the privilege this summer of traveling with three different friends— one friend helped me drive across the country as I moved; one friend convinced me to fly with her to England and Spain where we consumed an inordinate amount of art and tapas; and one friend (who I’ve known for over twenty years!) convinced me to meet up with her in the Canary Islands, the land of her ancestors. All three trips were distinctly different, and all three held experiential and relational gifts that continue to minister to me months later.
Time with family: Part of my reason for moving to Tennessee was to have easier access to the presence of my parents, brothers, grandmothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. Developing friendships with family takes time, and being present holds its own complexities. But this is the first time in almost a decade that I have seen members of my family more than one or two times a year, and I am thankful for the opportunity to continue adding layers of embodied interactions with each of them.
Using my library card: As it turns out, buying every book you want to read is not exactly sustainable lol. Who knew this wealth of language and love was accessible to everyone?
What didn’t work:
Living out of boxes: As it turns out, I do not thrive living life as a nomad. Hopefully I’ll get to unpack in 2024.
Eating sugar: Maybe I’m just more aware because the holidays seem to act as a permission slip to eat all the GF treats available, but I am feeling the ache of inflammation deep in my bones. Somehow I assume that this time it will be different and my sensitive autoimmune body won’t freak out… but I’m always wrong (that fudge was exceptionally good though).
Amazon: Technically Amazon did deliver every time, but I feel vaguely sick whenever I click the ‘buy’ button from this organization that has a monopoly on the global market, that cheapens items with excess and accessibility, and whose negative impact is vast enough to make me uncomfortable with how much I don’t know. I would love to hear how others are avoiding this mainstream option and what ideas you have for getting out of this rhythm.
Not using a planner regularly: The instability of this year could potentially have been mitigated by keeping tabs on time, setting goals, making plans, and checking items off of a physical list.
Online dating: As it turns out, this is a very specific type of wasteland. I know people who have had a positive experience, but the only thing I gleaned from it in this season was a robust distaste for it and the desire not to waste my time, energy, and money there.
Books I’m still thinking about:
Glittering Images, by Susan Howatch. I was entirely unprepared for this deep dive into the complexities of the human condition, even (especially) within the clergy. The beauty, corruption, insanity, power, and truth of it all has stuck with me poignantly for months.
My Name is Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok. On the first page I read this insanely relevant quote: “The fact is that gossip, rumors, mythmaking, and news stories are not appropriate vehicles for the communication of nuances of truth, those subtle tonalities that are often the truly crucial elements in a causal chain.” Immediately I was hooked. I cannot wait to go back and read it again one day to glean more of the nuance, courage, and tenacious love that Asher’s story embodies.
The Honey Bus, by Meredith May. I read this book while working temporarily on a farm over the late summer, watching the bees, seeing the honey harvest, and filling hundreds of bottles myself. It is a moving memoir, and gave me a deeper awe and love for the wisdom of bees, and beyond that the God who made them.
How Far to the Promised Land, by Esau McCaulley. My parents and I read this memoir out loud over the fall. It is unflinchingly honest and heartbreaking, yet also courageous and kind. I’m grateful for the gift of Esau’s writing, and that he chose to share his family’s story.
Wintering, by
. Katherine’s stunning memoir makes space for the spiritual and visceral forms of longing and lament. Though I didn’t know it when I initially picked this book up, I felt a growing yes in my core with each turn of the page: I really did need someone to make winter plain to me. Thank you.“Everybody winters at one time or another; some winter over and over again. Wintering is a season in the cold. It is a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider…. Perhaps you’re in a period of transition and have temporarily fallen between two worlds…. However it arrives, wintering is usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful. Yet it’s also inevitable…. We may never choose to winter, but we can choose how.”1
A sincere “Thank you” to all of the friends, family, and subscribers who have encouraged my writing since I started showing up regularly in June. I would love to know what worked or didn’t work for you this year, and hear what books have been on your mind in the comments!
from “Wintering,” page 10-11
Awesome things that worked for you! I’d struggle cutting down on coffee for sure haha
Online dating is a specific type of wasteland, indeed! I quit the apps this summer, I think for good. I've noticed I'm generally happier and less resentful toward the opposite sex. Seems to be an unmitigated improvement.