We’re only here for a minute.
We’re here for a little window.
And to use that time to catch
and share shards of light
and laughter and grace
seems to me the great story.
~ Brian Doyle
As I sit in my kitchen typing, looking out at the mountains I know so well and listening to the comforting, familiar sounds of our house being fully lived in, I can almost trick myself into believing for a moment that 2020 didn’t happen.
There’s no sign of it in the frozen winter landscape beyond our windows. The birds at the winter feeder come and go as they always have, bright spots of life and color against the grayness of the bare trees. In the living room, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkle for one last December day. The paperwhites bow down on their fragile stems, the dishwasher churns through its cycle, and my son sits at the piano playing a haunting ragtime tune.
What’s different here is not what’s going on outside, but the way I feel inside – a complex, almost cellular gratitude for all that’s ordinary, laced with a steady, inexpressible sadness for all that’s been lost, for how much grief and suffering our world contains.
Perhaps you feel it, too, as this long, hard year draws to a close — a newfound tenderness for even the smallest, most familiar sounds and sights and textures of a day, along with a heightened awareness of just how fragile and precious each moment really is. Whether or not we have lost loved ones, jobs, routines, or even faith, none of us are who we were a year ago. We’ve been remade, invisibly yet irrevocably, both by our collective grief and by our dawning recognition of the truth of who we are – connected, interdependent, vulnerable, mortal. And, just perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ve also been altered by wonder.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned about myself during these many months of being home and being quiet. And surely the most profound lesson has been that, in spite of everything, there is beauty and meaning to be found in life as it is, right here, right now. It’s become my daily challenge, and my daily choice, to find it. As British botanist Kathleen Basford observed, “It is when we are confronted with poignant reminders of mortality that we become most aware of the strangeness and wonder of our brief life on Earth.”
If this time is our only time, and it is, then surely we do owe it to ourselves, and to each other, to pay attention, to look deeply, to listen closely, and to respond to all of it, somehow, with love and gratitude.
Last March, as we settled into those first anxious days confined at home, I began a journal for the first time in some years. That initial effort, full of my own rambling fears, daily death tolls and terrible news headlines, didn’t last long. But a few months ago I started writing again, this time with a different intention. The days, I sensed, were flying by, blurring one into another with no dates on the calendar, no appointments to keep or trips to take or friends to see.
How would I remember what it felt like to be me during this time, if I couldn’t even remember what I ate for lunch yesterday? And, even more important, what really matters, when each day is so much like the one before it? I wanted to remind myself to be present, to be fully alive in each moment, even if the days themselves have little in the way of drama or consequence.
And so I began to jot down random impressions, passing thoughts, and small observations – something akin to brief word-snapshots of the ephemeral moments that add up to a life lived close to home – a life that’s simple, quiet, yet also rich and full. My journal now is a record not so much of doing but simply of being, noticing, and feeling. And what I’ve discovered along the way is that the more I look, the more I see.
In her memoir “Wild,” Cheryl Strayed recalls her beloved mother’s parting advice to her, before her too-early death from cancer. “There is always a sunrise and always a sunset,” she told her daughter. “And it’s up to you to choose to be there for it. Put yourself in the way of beauty.”
“Put yourself in the way of beauty.” It’s such a simple instruction. And yet, what a powerful and useful reminder this is as we cross the threshold into an even more challenging time. A reminder that we do have a choice to make each day, no matter how dark and difficult the path may be. We can choose where we put our attention, what we share, what we bow to, what we love – not in spite of what else is going on around us, but because of it.
As 2020 comes to an end, there are four of us sheltered together here. We’re in close quarters, isolated yet cozy, each going about our business throughout the day while also taking good care of each other, sharing meals and doing dishes, making a life and a living. Henry, who came home for spring break last March and never left, has been teaching his college classes remotely from his old bedroom upstairs. Our soul daughter Lauren made the drive from Atlanta to New Hampshire the first week of November, quarantined in the basement, and emerged in time to join us for Thanksgiving. She’s working remotely, too, putting in long days at a demanding new job. And my husband Steve is keeping his small business afloat with a reduced staff, each of them working in shifts and from home. We see my parents often, and barely anyone else. All of this, we’re well aware, is possible due to a combination of luck and privilege. We are warm and fed and as safe as anyone can be in a time when safety is relative and security is bought with solitude.
Many nights we carry dinner into the living room, balance plates on our laps, and eat in front of the fire with the lights turned low. There’s something about the primal intimacy of gathering around a hearth that seems to invite lingering long after the meal is over. Sometime, perhaps in the not too distant future, I’ll look back at these long winter nights and marvel at how content we were with no place to go and no one to see but each other.
Sometime, years from now, I’ll read through the pages I’ve been writing every night before sleep and be reminded that one morning Lauren and I rose early at my family’s house in Maine to walk through darkness and then to watch the sun appear over the water. I’ll remember climbing a mountain in the pink light of dawn after a snow and stepping outside into a 10-degree dusk to watch a full moon ascend into the heavens. I’ll remember seeing the shape of a heart in a leaf, a face on the sidewalk, ripening pears on a sill, a bright red cardinal at the feeder during a blizzard, cookies being readied for the oven, and pine boughs bending under burdens of snow.
I’ll remember December haircuts on the porch, being the first one at the grocery store when it opened at seven, and sanitizing my hands till the skin cracked. But I’ll also remember snowshoeing through fresh powder, Christmas presents made by hand, my mother’s salad shaped like a wreath, my dad shoveling snow in a hat he’s worn since I was a child. I’ll remember all of us squeezing onto the couch to meet Jack’s girlfriend over Zoom on Christmas Eve and, too, the heartache of not being able to hug one of my boys for over a year.
I’ll remember lanterns lighting up the night, yoga by candlelight, foot massages and backrubs, morning greetings and the sweetness of climbing into bed next to my husband at the end of yet another day when not much happened. I’ll remember being thankful for every blessedly uneventful moment.
And I’ll remember that in the midst of the pandemic winter, when the nights were long and cold, and the virus was spreading in our small town and everywhere else, and relief, let alone some semblance of normalcy, seemed far away, we still chose, moment to moment and day by day, to put ourselves in the way of beauty,.
As I’ve been writing today, Lauren has been looking through the photos we’ve taken over these last two months. They, too, tell a story of moments noticed, moments shared, and choices made. Not only have we tried to put ourselves in the way of beauty, we’ve paused here and there to capture it. The video she’s made to accompany my words is both a gift and an invitation. Take five minutes. Breathe deeply. And join us. Put yourself in the way of beauty.
Thank you for a powerful, poignant reflection this New Years Eve day. May we all know graces and count blessings and find gratitude for all that has changed us this year.
beautiful, beautiful, the perfect rinse for this old year, as we tiptoe ever so tenderly into the new one, the one awaiting us with open arms……
bless you, and thank you…..and thank you, lauren……..
I’ve been struggling a bit more this month -partly, I think because of Christmas and what it would not be. But also, just the exhaustion and weariness that has built up. I’m also grieving the loss of my mother to Covid in May, and I think the holidays crack that open in a way ordinary days do not. I’ve found myself coming to your page a few times over the last few weeks looking for your always soothing, profound words. And here they are. Thank you so much. As you have written, there IS beauty to be found in this dire, chaotic experience. In a way, I think we’ve all opened up more to each other. I’m still grappling with how to express this thought. But I think it has to do with the peek inside each other’s homes we’ve suddenly discovered, the shared suffering, the knowledge that others have suffered more, and that they always have. We will be better humans after this, I think.
I am so sorry about the loss of your mother. I am touched by your grace and wisdom.
Joni
So lovely, Katrina. The video brought me to tears, both in the imagery and music. I am slowly learning this Yurima piece on piano, and it was a perfect choice for the video. Many thanks to Lauren for a terrific job!
I would love to know that name of this Yurima piece – I also thought of learning it on the piano…
Thank you!
It’s called Nuvole Bianche . So beautiful. I often play it in yoga classes.
Thank you Katrina! Your words have beauty rippling out to me across the miles to England. May you be safe. May you be warm. May you continue to inspire. Blessings to you and Steve, Henry, Jack and Lauren 🕯♥️🥂 🖊 📖 🙏🏻 🌎
Oh, this was just lovely and just what my morning needed, thank you Katrina and Lauren.
And please, may I ask what is the gorgeous music accompanying this? Sending blessings for this coming new year.
Thank you — such lovely writing and a beautiful
Video. May we all come together in peace and grace this new year!!
So lovely! Wonderful essay and video for this New a year’s Eve!
Thank you so much Katrina, for this gentle and beautiful reminder. Brings hope and peace for the New Year! Video is very soothing and seeing beauty everywhere. Can’t thank you enough for your calm words. Happy New Year’s Eve and a bright New Year to you and loved ones.
Thank you, Katrina and Lauren. You are both treasures. Thanks for sharing your gifts.
With love, C.
All of this ❤️
Beautiful words, imagery and music. Thank you for the reminders. Beauty is all around us- I will remember to notice and have reverence for simple things.
💕 Thank you….. The words and video are soothing to my soul.
Yes, and thank you. I have to admit I was dreading Christmas this year – – just my husband and me at home in New Hampshire with our children and their families in Boulder and San Diego County. The thing that made me the most sad was missing my daughter‘s 40th birthday on Christmas Day. But as Christmas got closer I found myself moving from sadness to acceptance. And I, too, was able to feel gratitude for our food fortune and beauty in our lives.
❤️❤️
I was so hoping I’d hear from you on this last day of 2020. Thank you for your much needed message.
Beautiful and perfect words, images, and music. Although this year, and the upcoming winter, holds profound sadness, loss, and isolation, there are blessings to be found although I recognize my fortune to be able to count those blessings. The sunsets have been amazing, and our fall weather, including some fairly balmy November and even December days allowed safe outdoor visits around a bonfire with close friends. The quieter pace, the slow paced evenings are sandwiched between walking the dogs, dinner, and tea before bedtime. Chores are less hurried as I find ways to extend time outdoors or listen to an audio book while folding laundry or preparing a meal. The ordinary mechanics of life, of family, of work, of home, keep me focused as each day unfolds. Thank you for sharing the beauty you are discovering. Wishing you and your family health and happiness in the New Year.
Thank you for the most beautiful summation of your thoughts and hopes and take-aways of a most profound year
in all of our lives. It is then appropriate to realize that even though this year has been such a deadly and horrible
one, it has also taught us some profound lessons, of love and faith and family and friendship. I hope that we look back and remember both with sadness and thankfulness at the importance of life. My father had a poem he would recite,
“I think of the meadows, the glen and the dale and all the lands I would roam,
And in all of my expeditions, I found my treasures at home.” (Herbert H. Spector)
As a young child, he would say it to me so I memorized it. All throughout my life I heard the words. And when he
passed, I included the poem in my speech at his funeral. This year it seems appropriate to share it. It’s meaning
sums up the year, 2020, for me. God bless you all. I look forward to the New Year.
Thank you for sharing your father’s lovely & touching poem; so simple; so profound.
Katrina and Lauren, in word and image alike, the two of you have collaborated to give my heart precisely what it needed this last day of 2020… Thank you for this exquisite reminder to be grateful for life’s sweetness and mindful of its inexhaustible beauty. I’m sending love to the both of you, my creative, generous, lovely, loving friends. Happy New Year~ x o x o
So beautiful Katrina…. I always enjoy reading your posts, and appreciate the reminder to enjoy the small things. All the best to you and your loved ones in 2021.
Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your words are always so touching, and the video is very special. I will watch it again and again. We do need to always take the time to see the beauty, it is always there, even in the middle of a pandemic. Thanks for the reminder. Be well.
Awwww! Thank you Katrina and thank Lauren for ‘putting me in the way of beauty’.
It was a lovely New Year’s Eve gift. Just what I needed.
Wishing you and your family a happy and healthy new year.
Thank you, Katrina, for this lovely reflection on a challenging period in our lives. Thank you, Lauren, for the wonderful photographs of simple beauties all around us and some that I have never seen before in person.
As I read I wondered about the health of your parents, and I hope they are well.
Wishing you and all of my fellow readers peace, health, and happiness in the coming year.
Beautiful. Thank you for always reminding me of what really matters.
Thank you for these beautiful words and the sentiment behind them. It had been a challenging year but then when I reflect I can find the beauty too.
Much like the quote you noted, “It is often in the darkest skies that we see the brightest stars.”
My heart always feels so full after settling in and reading your words and this time looking and listening at the pictures you shared.
Happy New Year!
Thank you, Katrina. I appreciate you. Gretchen
I have loved nothing more than being hunkered down here in NH these last 2 months. Thank you for writing such a beautiful piece and reminding us to pay attention.
If you want to sink down even deeper into this space, I highly recommend “Wintering” by Katherine May, and Pixar’s new film, “Soul,” an exhortation to simply live life.
Beautiful words, images, and music… a perfect way to embrace this new day in the new year. Thank you!
This is such a beautiful reminder for the ways we can pause and be sure to make 2021 better all around. Thanks for sharing your heart and journey with us. The video was very well done! Happy New Year Katrina! Xoxo
Thank you for reminding me that there is beauty within this pandemic. So often I get caught up in the craziness of the world today and want to hide under the covers. Your writing always lifts me up and puts a bright spot into my day. Have you thought about turning your journal into your next book? I would love to read more of your writing (I have all your books) and this would make a great book-beauty within the pandemic. Happy New Year!!
Thank you for reminding me of the beauty all around. Your reflection and video were so precious. It’s been so hard being all alone during these months. Such reflections and tender communities on zoom have been my solace.
Katrina and Lauren – this is everything. I have been homeschooling my kids since March as our schools have remained closed since March in many parts of Michigan. I have felt both exhausted and defeated. These words and images give me the motivation to keep going and look for the beauty as I head into this new year. Thank you!
Thanks, as always, for bringing beauty and calm into my life.
With gratitude, Mary Lynne
Thank you so much. I look forward to your posts. The video was so beautiful and calming. I wish you a wonderful year to come.
So so lovely Katrina, I always love how your words bring us to the heart of what truly matters…reminding us to stay steadfast, in the beauty of an ordinary day. Maybe not so ordinary in 2020 but a reminder to embrace beauty and life, no matter where we are traveling in our journey. Lauren’s video brings it all to light, in music and images. There is a thoughtful soulfulness in your shared appreciation for life, your expressions of “soul mother/daughter” say it all. It was fun to see how we both connected to Brian Doyle’s words this week. Must be the magic of the mountain. A big wave and hug to you both from up the hill. Best wishes for a happy new year to you all. Jeanne xxx
Such heartfelt comments from all. We are truly in this all together. Thank you all for sharing. I will re-read Katrina’s email and watch Lauren’s video many times over in 2021. Thank you!
Oh Katrina, how your beautiful words always move me. The video was lovely as well. I too have not hugged either of my adult children since last Christmas which is especially difficult when my daughter is four months pregnant with my first grandchild. Thank you for writing; you have such an amazing gift to touch hearts, and I’m deeply appreciative that you share your feelings and thoughts.
So Beautiful and much appreciated. I think we have all been searching for moments of beauty and joy where we could find them, often having to look a little harder and closer to home, but there to be found. Always appreciate your thoughts. Keep them coming and be well ❤️
Wow, such beautiful words from you and such a beautiful video from Lauren. Thanks for helping me to put myself in the way of beauty <3