One usually settles into the end of the year with a reflective mood, typically ushered by the waning daylight hours and the hibernation-like activity induced by cold temperatures. I normally fall into thoughtful mood as well, especially as holiday rituals and traditions command our attention to remembering, honoring, and sharing. Candles are lit and stories are shared about times of when oppression threatened all and miracles made it possible to locate hope on a dark horizon. Most of us, despite our age, can’t help but rekindle that child-like wonder that the holidays deliver, whether that’s inspired by tree decorating, traditional family recipes, or the excitement of celebrating with family and friends.
This year, I’m not quite at the moment where contemplation takes hold, even though Hanukkah arrived early and I’m still smarting for how badly I lost in nightly rounds of dreidel to my son. I now have a 2-year-old daughter who adds brightness when she blows kisses to the setting sun and then says: “Moon is coming!”
I’m staring down the end of the year with a feeling of anxiety: it can’t be the end of the year, yet. There’s still so much more to do, so much more to say, so many more projects to complete, so many more people to connect with, so many more books to read . . . and on and on it goes. This past year felt like it went by at an accelerated rate, perhaps faster than normal but it’s nearly impossible to quantify how time actually feels as we move through it. Perhaps this rush could be attributed to how much change and disruption we’ve experienced in our community. There’s also the fog of heartache that simply won’t disappear as we move from one year to the next and many of these devastating losses we’ve suffered are lives cut short.
What grounds me, even if I feel like I can’t quite catch my breath, is the way winter comes no matter if we want it to or not. It might not take the meteorological shape that we’re accustomed to with the recent warm temperatures and concern about a lack of snowfall, but it’s a season of reckoning. It’s a call to attention of our own limitations and fragility. It also highlights our need for connection and compassion – worthy reminders especially as the holidays tend to become dominated by consumption giving rather than genuine kinship and affection.
Words like connection, compassion, reflection can get diluted or reduced to a pithy catchphrase, but I find that they garner greater strength and resonance as the final days of the years approach. So much of the year has been spent pitting people against each other, pointing fingers, casting blame, and forcing communities into divisions that need not take root. What could we do with the time that remains in 2021 to reactivate and recharge those virtues that bring people together, and not drive them apart? For if we truly embrace the winter in the darkness we find that the light really does shine the brightest.
While at this moment, I struggle with the realization that the end of the year will be here before I know it, I also understand that the invitation that winter offers is one that I can’t afford to ignore. This holiday season, I’m tasking myself with new approaches in seeking connection and kinship and it might begin with learning from my daughter, greeting the rising moon and bidding farewell to the sun.
Maggie Doherty is the owner of Kalispell Brewing Company on Main Street.