a season of stillness, a year of hushed and humbled splendor

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Image: The Salt Lake Temple in all of its hushed and humbled splendor

 

One of the gifts of pregnancy is forced resignation. It requires a stepping down, a letting go, and a spilling out. My body is wholly intent on creating this little human and entirely uninterested in whatever other visions I may have had for myself. From what I hear, this act of surrender is the prelude to parenthood.

 

During this growing season, I have no choice but to lay dormant while my body engages in her divine errand. I am compelled to tether my pace and succumb to the slow passing of time. My energy wanes, and so I rest.

 

My physical body is not the only part of me that has ebbed. When it came time to create new year's resolutions, I drew a blank. I had no lists of books to read or miles to run or meals to cook. No zealous spreadsheets with goals divided into categories and subcategories as I have in the past (not sure I should have admitted that). I decided that what I really wanted for 2014 was to just be present. It seemed obvious in that moment of year-end reflection that life, in her inevitable way, would refine me. I didn't need spreadsheets and lists and goals to be exfoliated; I would evolve through the simple act of being.

 

I sat with a friend the other night and told her how delicious it feels to lack aspiration. I surprised myself. It almost seems blasphemous to admit that aloud, but it's true. This is not my season of striving, it is my season of stillness. I love the way it feels so much that it bears repeating:

 

It is so fantastically freeing to bury the anvil of ambition for a time and just float quietly through life's muted and mundane moments.

 

So here's to you, 2014. I look forward to your year of hushed and humbled splendor.