The Competing Desire for Slowness and Momentum

My thoughts on this time of year.

Hi friends,

I don’t know about you, but the fourth week of January always feels particularly chaotic to me. The holiday and post-holiday gentleness has officially worn off, and everyone has settled back into the chokehold of busy schedules, productivity pressure, and New Years’ resolutions and intentions (or these days, it’s all about your “nudge word”—we’ll get to that later). And while the energy of this time can be intoxicating, I find myself missing the lackadaisical and forgiving mood of mid-December through early January.

The frenzy around this time of year isn’t surprising: a new orbit around the sun always fuels a collective energy sustained by infinite possibilities. One Harvard professor suggests that human’s obsession with the new year could be rooted in our survival instincts. We want to survive—and thrive, for that matter!—so we experiment with new or more grounded ways of living, and methods for how to make them stick. He also suggests that humans love making resolutions because we like controlling what lies ahead. This is rooted in our discomfort with the unknown.

Welp.

While I don’t consider myself someone who’s uncomfortable with the unknown, I am absolutely someone who gets exhilarated by the new year. At risk of sounding trite, it’s the same reason why I love mornings, Mondays, winter, the first bite of a croissant, the initial chapters of a book, the beginning of a new friendship: you are acutely aware of newness and difference—and the potential for what lies ahead. It’s one of the surest, most pleasant reminders of what it feels like to be alive.

The anticipation of this first bite…

But, as with everything, there are two sides to the same coin. The pressure of potential in new beginnings, and the novelty associated with it, can be a bit much. Trying to do too much, too quickly, without leaving room for life’s very real hurdles and for celebrating the road of slow progress, is a one-way ticket to burnout or even shame—for not doing the things we said we would, fast enough, good enough, or just enough. Not to mention, there’s immense power in not planning or resolution-setting your life away.

All of this has me thinking about how to strike the balance between the glorious slowness associated with the holidays and the foot-on-the-gas energy that permeates this time of year.

How do we celebrate the deep, necessary slowness of winter and embrace the enthusiastic momentum of January?

How do we be kind to ourselves while being honest about how we could better show up for ourselves and the people around us?

How do we stay grounded in our present selves but make room for our future ones?

I don’t have any clear answers, but it made me think about this Mary Oliver poem, and the importance of taking cues from nature.

Trees don’t get impatient with themselves when it takes a while to lose their old leaves in the fall or to grow new ones in the spring. They don’t despair when rainstorms knock off all their new buds, or when squirrels break their beautiful branches. They don’t think the world is ending when the gloomy blusters of winter are baring down for endless months. They aren’t focused on other trees’ growth, they’re just focused on their own: a slow, steady, frequent movement through all the seasons of life. Some seasons will be longer and more intense than others, but it’s just that: a season. It’ll arrive and then it’ll go. And throughout it all, trees remain gentle and steadfast.

A photo I took on a morning walk after a rare Seattle snowstorm.

So as much as I (and maybe you, too) roll my eyes at the idea of establishing a “nudge word,” in this new season, let’s try it.

To take from the tree analogy above, I’ve decided Second Breakfast’s word for 2023 is gentle. As I mentioned in my opening letter, second breakfast (the meal) is a peaceful moment in which I can step away from the noise of the world, reflect on something or other, and feel better when I come back. Second Breakfast (the newsletter) is designed to do the same. But all of it is grounded in gentleness: in being, in learning, in reflecting, in striving.

In whatever situation today’s newsletter finds you—of which there are many, I’m sure—this is your reminder to extend some gentleness to yourself and others.

Maybe you love your job, maybe you don’t; maybe you adore hanging with your kid, maybe you also desperately want a break; maybe you cherish the people you’re surrounded by, maybe you’re realizing you want to branch outside of your bubble. Maybe you have fulfilling hobbies, or maybe you feel disconnected from them or feel lost on how to pursue them. Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle of all these things.

Whatever it is, know that it’s just a season, and with a little grace and effort, you’ll move gently onto the next when you’re ready.

Excited for us in this new year,

Elizabeth

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A few of the reads that are on my brain this week:

• A deeply important thread from AAPI Women Lead on the Monterey Park and Half Moon Bay massacres. You can support the victims and their families here.

• Yes, Your Job Is Important. But It’s Not All-Important.

• Black Americans Re-Embrace the Outdoors After Generations of Exclusion

• This all-women skydiving team set a world record to inspire girls to lead bold, brave lives

• 62 Books By Women of Color to Read in 2023 (Do yourself a favor and pre-order one of these books as a future gift to yourself (or someone else!).