This year, we want a new year.
I heard it on New Year’s Eve in the relieved midnight shouts as neighbors yelled to be heard between walls and across streets. We all wanted a milestone we could pass. We wanted 2020, and the terrible disease for which we will remember it, to be over and behind us. And we hoped that our celebration would make it so.
Making January 1st the dividing line is arbitrary, of course. That it marks “the new year” in much of the world is an accident of history, brought to us by a Roman king and the conventions of calendar design. Choosing this day for 2020 to be over is just the longest, heaviest sigh following many attempts to end the pandemic by being tired of it.
But years themselves? Those are real. And knowing their rhythm is a gift given to those who live to see many of them. The seasons change and we find ourselves returned again to where we were before, and vow to make the next year better. Unsurprisingly, the tradition of new year’s resolutions is very old. Making resolutions is a great way to use the passing of the year to remind us of our core principles.
Buddhism has a lot of these practices as well: daily chanting, fortnightly observance days, and an annual retreat period. For both Buddhist monastics and laypeople they are invitations to recommit to the Buddha’s teachings: recollecting the triple gem, reaffirming the moral precepts, and sharing our blessings with all sentient beings, among other practices.
But there is another aspect to these practices. In inviting us to remember each day, month, and year, they remind us how easy it can be to forget, by inches, the values we hold dear. If we want to remember our values, we must remember to remember. So why not remember as night turns into day, as the moon is full, or as the frost melts into spring?
As 2020 draws to a close, I find myself remembering March. In the US this was when nonessential businesses closed and people were asked to stay home. There was so much uncertainty about what COVID-19 was and what to do to stay safe.
When I think of March I recall grocery shortages, neighborhood walks, and the air that seemed cleaner. But what I remember most was the goodwill that I received from so many, strangers and friends alike: that extra bit of patience born from the understanding that we were all hurting. That we were not at our best, and should therefore do our best to care for and forgive one another.
The weeks stretched into months. People went back to work because they had to, or because they were told to. Patience became thinner and goodwill grew cracked and dry. We couldn’t hold our breath any longer, and none of us knew how to only ever exhale.
Now it is January. And in Los Angeles things are as grim as they’ve ever been. Daily new cases and deaths are at an all-time high. Hospitals are so crowded they must turn people away, and our healthcare workers are stretched beyond their limit.
January 1st won’t be the milestone that puts 2020 behind us. But maybe it can be an opportunity to remember. To use the passing of the year to remember to remember that we are all still hurting. And resolve to recommit to the kindness we were capable of in the beginning.
We are still living through a time of loss and hardship. We are tired. And while we may feel that we do not have our best to give, we can renew our generosity of spirit, both for ourselves and for each other. Because there is a new year that lies ahead.
Images licensed under Creative Commons by Thomas Hawk and vallgall.
