December was a month of eager hedonism, after a year of serious introspection. I couldn’t have been happier, hooking my legs around the pendulum rod, throwing back my head and grinning as one hand held on and the other trailed behind me. I. was. so. ready. It’s okay, to play.
And what a season to play. Eating, drinking, parties, gifts, treats, expectations and exceptions. A dizzying ballet of love and hope and insecurity. Of gorgeous moments truly lived, of the anxious frustration at nostalgia that did not materialize, and the patient, seductive murmur of that union, which births our beliefs in tradition.
Balance comes in so many forms. The thrilling, sickening, roller-coaster whiplash of change at pace; the slow, emergent agenda of a planet that accepts what it’s given. But the most beautiful thing about balance is that it’s the apex of transition. It’s the perfect christening moment of change, and the process itself. It is at once the limits of the spectrum, and the journey across it.
This year will be a different year. A year of creative collaboration. A year of unpacking the lessons of practice, hiding from them, testing them, trying them, again. A year of a gentler swing towards my middle. I am grateful.