Sometimes the Wind isn't at your Back

You've gotta face it head on

I disappeared at the end of the year. I needed a few days' quiet; to think, to regroup, to prepare. Having been let go from my academic job mid-year, just before the winter holiday, I didn't have time to grieve. Just a few days later, my children and I would take off on a ten hour drive to visit family. I had to secure a cat-sitter and purchase enough cat food, make sure we had enough suitcases, pick up the house enough so that when we returned we weren't depressed by our own mess. Enough. I woke up the day before our journey at 5:00am to sneak the children's presents under our tree to surprise them with early Christmas. Did I get them enough? They would get so much more from my parents, and that was ok. This year I am extra grateful for their generosity.

The trip was uneventful. We stopped overnight to break up the drive. Why not make it a mini-vacation? Our family life is simple enough that ordering food to a hotel room qualifies as decadent. I don't want anyone worried right now. On Christmas Eve I had the joy of singing three beautiful church services up in Detroit. Fall on your knees; O hear the angel voices! That night, I was a vessel. Over the course of the evening I watched nearly 3,000 people receive the body and blood while I sang. It was a service I needed in my heart to provide. Like most years, I arrived home well after midnight and spent Christmas day in a state of mild exhaustion. Both mothers and church musicians know this feeling well. The body knows what to do and adjusts.

And then the day came to drop my children off with their father for a few days and make my departure. A slow, winding way back west; I drove only a few hours a day, stopping in nearly empty hotels. New Year's Eve was spent watching the Food Network and steaming two pounds of crab legs in my hotel room microwave. I took the evening to reflect and process, but mostly to hope. Part of me knows how silly it is; we created time, and yet we marvel at the turning of a calendar as though there is something mystic about it.

At 6:00am, January 1st, I rolled my suitcase out into the dark parking lot, scraped the ice off of my car, and headed to the Lake Michigan shore. There aren't many cars out on the interstate that early on New Year's Day, save for a few semis. Wind whipped around the sides of my Ford Escape. Sleet dappled the windshield; nature's confetti. I pulled into the Warren Dunes just before sunrise. I had hoped for a clear, calm morning, but there is a lesson in this arrival. We don't get to choose how we enter a new morning, or a new year. The old Irish blessing states, "May the wind be always at your back." Well, sometimes on our journey, it isn't. Sometimes it whips and stings and gusts enough to make you lose your footing. Whether or not you do largely depends on your ability to shift your weight and your perspective. Face it head on. The green waves crested. I stripped down and dug my toes into the frozen sand, nestled my phone into a shielded tower of my coat and clothes. I want to remember this morning. And out to the edge of the shore I ran, stopping just short of the tide. The sun behind heavy clouds provided light, just the same. I stood there, grateful for my aging body, for the ability to feel joy, and for the capacity to hope. It is a new year.