Winter Solstice Thoughts
By: Beth M.
Tags: Time, Recharge, Renew, Winter Solstice

Life is all about the negatives. Which ironically might actually end up meaning quite the opposite. The Winter Solstice — the longest day of darkness — leads to light, and that’s symbolic.

The opportunities that didn’t pan out. The hopes and goals every molecule of strength and sweat went into yet ended in rejection, failure, and demise. Death. Lost relationships and friendships. Some slowly floated away, others cut out instantly. I still can’t tell which one eats away more of the soul. People we’ll never get to see again except for when we relive our last interaction over and over in our minds. Things that slowly cracked us open without realizing it until it was too late. Receiving that dreaded news that cut us open. Salt in the wound. The person we trusted most and expected least to invade that part of us, betrays us and leaves us cold and dry. Kicking us when we’re already down. Or us letting other people down in a big way and knowing it. Being a disappointment. When the rug gets pulled out from under us. When they’re not who we thought they were. It’s like this has all been a sick game of virtual reality. What is worse? For us to be whittled down by those closest to us or us being the ones to whittle down those closest to us? Neither feels too good.

And just when we thought enough is enough, our bandwidth to endure is oversaturated, there is no more room for hardship — more pours in and fills all the remaining minuscule cracks of hope. Sealing in all the pain and grief and suffering and vulnerability. To not feel safe within ourselves. The instant we realize how easy life was before this. What we thought was a heavy load before this, we wish to be carrying now. If only. What we would trade to be in our exact shoes days ago. Moments ago. Life was so easy then. Then the should’ve/could’ve/would’ve thoughts. Remorse. Regret. Shame. Guilt. Self-loathing. Comparing. Questioning. A vicious cycle.

And through the terror and pain and vulnerability of it all, we still wake every day to bear it all again. But somewhere along with the lapse of time, however many days it takes, healing begins. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what moment in time it happens, as each day feels no different from the day before. Does it come staring at raindrops hitting a puddle in the street waiting for the train? Seeing our reflection in the window glass listening to earpods walking downtown? Or is it in that smell of opening a can of chicken noodle soup? Waking up ravenous after a long nap and a day at the beach? Eventually, it comes and we sit with it. We invite it on the hammock swing with us. And that is where the healing begins.

The irony in that is, all of life is uncertain, except for time. Time is the only constant we truly can rely on. Nature continues in its predictable cycles each day. The sun greets us each morning, the trees lose their leaves each Fall, the moon waxes and wanes each month, and the same birds fly south each Winter. Even when there are clouds, the sun is always shining. We never are gifted with the exact same minute to live over again, ever. Each second, day, month, year, has never experienced before and holds fresh possibilities waiting for us. That is the beauty in being alive and able to fully experience the entire spectrum of human emotion in this existence we call life. And so we are certainly uncertain when healing will come; just that it comes with time.

The Winter Solstice is an annual time of introspection. To inspect our inner darkness as a way to bring ourselves closer to the light. It’s a time to reflect and renew, to be grateful for our past and all the hardships, recognize how far we’ve come, what we’ve learned along the way and what we want to bring with us into the future for the longer days ahead. Darkness inspires us to create, to innovate, to move forward, to keep going, and to be better — not to avoid feeling pain ever again, but to guide us to find the light and enjoy it as much as we can.

The negatives, just like those from 35mm film — when you look through them, all you can see is light.