Some Thoughts On the Silly Season

I tested positive to Covid on Christmas Day, which, with family visiting from overseas, was unfortunate and disappointing … yet also a relief. I was pleased to be given the opportunity to opt out of attending the family gathering, despite having to be unwell to do so. It was the first time I have missed Christmas, and it was something of a treat.

I’ve explained in previous posts why I don’t celebrate the new year (according to Greg’s calendar, as someone put it), but I’ve never broached the topic of Christmas, though I have long felt uncomfortable about it. I don’t identify as Christian, and nor do I wish to participate in the commercial side of the occasion. I have no issue with marking the winter solstice and the rebirth of the sun (and the year), but this does not translate to the Australian summer. The incongruity of it (and Easter in autumn, Halloween in spring) is part of what increases my discomfort. We are so disconnected from the land and the seasons that we don’t seem to mind that the celebration doesn’t make any sense!

I’ve justified my involvement based on it being the most convenient time for a family gathering, and I may as well make and eat some special food. But my recent experience has made me think more deeply about what I dislike about the silly season.

In addition to the unease created by the disjunction between festival and season, the imposition of symbols and traditions that do not fit the context, there is a great deal of stress, anxiety, energy expenditure and anticipation, and a great deal of disappointment, tedium and emotional drain. I find being in large groups dissipates my energy, whilst with one or two people there can be more of a concentration of it. In both cases there is a cost, but while the latter can be productive and enlivening, the former merely results in depletion.

This time of year is exhausting, and it becomes depressing, not just because of the fatigue, but because the requirement to participate in a gathering of many people is so counterproductive. To me it is not ‘quality time’ but just a lot of noise. The consequence is more, not less, loneliness, misunderstanding and invisibility.

I know I’m not the only person to feel this way, for many people struggle with their mental/emotional health at this time of year. And I have it on good authority that other women who contracted Covid over Christmas have expressed similar thoughts to mine. How interesting that we feel relief more than sadness.

I’m not sure what will happen next year, but I wanted to put these thoughts out there, to make it clear that there are other ways to think about what most people seem to accept as given, and that some of us have different needs and wishes in regards to our interactions with others. I’m not sure that I can say no right now, but maybe one day I will be able to make that choice for myself.

For those who are wondering, after some initial aches and pains, my Covid symptoms were very mild, and I seem to be mostly recovered, though I will be taking things easy for a while yet, because much as I love the idea of summer, the reality has never really agreed with me. Luckily, I made the finishing touches to my bedroom redecoration (which took over a year!) by hanging some pictures a week before Christmas, so I had three little images by Meinrad Craighead to look at while I was isolating. I also had books, music, much food, and I saw a snake glide through the backyard, which was exciting (the second this summer). So being sick turned out to be something of an enjoyable little retreat, which brought a whole range of feelings, thoughts and insights, and I am rather grateful for all of it.

The view from my bed, with the wall looking more grey
than it actually is, and my quilt cover looking more orange.

Finding the How

The what and the why can be relatively easy. It’s the how that I find difficult.

How to manifest my visions. How to say what I must say. How to inhabit the state of flow from which sacred wonder arises, when energy and will and presence are scarce.

Every year brings strange challenges and gifts, but this year I’ve felt particularly disconnected from my creative work, as I’ve had to devote much physical energy to strengthening and repairing my body, and reorganising my personal space. I’ve felt a bit discombobulated and unfocused as a result, and thus the how has become more trying than usual. But all of the activity which has taken me away from art will, I hope, eventually lead me back to it, more focused, more motivated and inspired.

I have developed a great trust in the seasons of life, and am happy to turn towards what is needed, even if it seems like I am achieving little. This is a skill.

And during stressful moments this year I’ve managed to maintain an almost unshakable calm, which has given me a stability I’m not sure that I’ve possessed before. This fills me with some wonder. Inner change is often invisible, and yet it manifests in very tangible ways.

I feel sure that next year will be a new land, entirely mine to inhabit, and much will grow from its soil.

Happy summer/winter solstice! May the turn of the year bring you blessings.

August 2022

A Coalescence of Time and Yarn

I finished making this blanket early in the year, but have not had the opportunity to photograph it until now. I completed most of it during my six months away from social media last year, knitting a few rows each evening, which coalesced into this design inspired by Ukrainian Easter eggs. The tragic events of this year have made it even more poignant and precious, to have created such a thing. Though my maternal ancestry is Polish, I’m sure there is forgotten, or more likely denied, Ukrainian blood in the mix.

The human web we have woven is a complicated and knotted one, and I’m sure the tangles will get worse as the dominant culture collapses. But there’s a great deal of material to reweave, so many different colours and shades to knit into a new pattern, thus we are not short of bright, shining threads to do that work of renewal.

Even when I am unable to do much, except knit, or read more than is sensible, or overthink myself into a twist, I feel assured that there is meaning behind it, that I am still part of the overall pattern, and that maybe I am still weaving new life into being.