Fall down seven times, get up eight. This Japanese proverb serves as my mantra for the upcoming year. I acknowledge that some days I navigate grief adeptly, while on others, I find myself in a low state. The memories of my little sister's death by suicide, just days after Christmas in 2011, can haunt me still, as does the enduring sadness that my husband missed witnessing his children's growth two decades later, can resurface unexpectedly. Despite the cultural emphasis on positive resolutions in the new year, I am content with embracing life's ebbs and flows, acknowledging the peaks and valleys of grief, and understanding that it's okay not to feel okay.
Unlike making resolutions, I choose to accept life as it unfolds. There are days when I am flourishing, and others when I am not, recognizing that falling down is inevitable for various reasons. However, I am confident in my ability to rise again. Life, like a series of cycles, encompasses both valleys and peaks. If I find myself in a low point, a high point will follow in due course. This understanding, coupled with the willingness to endure difficult moments and seek support from friends and family, is crucial.
Reflecting on a past experience, I participated in the Dagara Grief Ritual with Sobonfu Somé, who emphasized that grief is an ongoing presence in our lives. January and the new year may evoke images or stories of grief that demand expression. Allowing these emotions without comparing ourselves to others or adhering to resolutions fosters a natural healing process, ushering in joy and rebirth.
Gratitude for grief, an unconventional sentiment, shapes my personal growth. This connection with our inner source persists throughout the year, irrespective of societal expectations to leave the past behind. Grief and sorrow are intrinsic aspects of the human experience, and there is value in not concealing these emotions in the new year but rather finding constructive ways to express and support others in their grief.
Questioning the conventional celebration of the new year on December 31, I perceive it as somewhat premature. January 1 marks the commencement of winter, a period of darkness not conducive to new beginnings. It is a time for the nurturing of the seed of light planted during the winter solstice. By midwinter, coinciding with Lunar New Year, Setsubun in Japan, or Beltane in the Celtic Tradition, I sense a harmonious alignment with the Earth's energy—manifesting in the first signs of green shoots and new life.
