A Year in Review: What Is Bigger Than Us
My years are bookended by mountains and cities; I start and end each one among something towering. On a tour in Carthage, Tunisia this past December, the tour guide gestured at the mountains overlooking the ruins: “The balcony of the gods,” she called them. This image hasn’t escaped me since; now, when I look at the mountains, their imposing form against the skyline so much bigger than us, I imagine “the gods,” in whatever form they may take, looking out from the distant ridges.
I started my year among the glittering skyscrapers of Chicago, warmed by a flute of champagne at midnight and then shocked by the rush of deep winter cold as we darted between bars. I can still remember the first time my family visited the city, how I tilted my head back to try to see how high the buildings stretched into the sky. How I still do the same, nearly 20 years later: out of habit, my neck cranes until it hurts, and yet the tops of the skyscrapers remain out of reach. I remember the first time I saw the mountains, too, how from the car I thought they were clouds — what else could be so looming in the sky? — until their peaks fully took form.
I ended my year in the Rif Mountains in Akchour, Morocco, in an apartment where the terrace opened up so that if I was standing back at the right angle, the mountains filled the entire space in front of me. The last week of December was a slow blur, days blending together. In Akchour, the sun beat strong during the day, and yet I still huddled under blankets at night. Even when I’m uncomfortable, there’s something comforting about being cold, a remnant from 18 years of Midwest winters.
In thinking about the idea of what is bigger than us, so many occurrences this past year came from what felt like chance but probably wasn’t — I believe, for the most part, that there is no such thing as a coincidence. I finally had the chance this past summer to walk the Camino de Santiago, something I had been wanting to do for years. I debated with the logistics before leaving, changing my exact dates several times until I finally committed to a start date. On my first day in the hostel, the night before I was to start walking, I met another solo hiker. What turned into buying last-minute gear and running to the grocery store together on that first day led to a month of us walking together nearly every single day, all the way until we reached Santiago.
For a long time, I had entertained the idea of working as a freelancer. Yet I had always thought of the reasons why it wouldn’t work until I had no choice but to make that leap, after quitting a job that was no longer serving me. In my first full year of freelancing, I learned both hard and rewarding lessons in managing a workload in which I was responsible for finding and keeping clients, while managing a fluctuating month-to-month income.
I no longer write New Year’s resolutions, but for the last three years, I’ve done Suleika Jaouad’s journaling challenge, a five-list practice that simultaneously grounds and inspires me as it breaks free from the traditional format of resolutions. In these lists, I wrote about what in this past year I was proud of and what I yearn for, what I can rely on and what I dream of. This was a year of learning how to work for myself, of finding my rhythm, of prioritizing time for writing, travel, and a creative practice. I found the creative community I had been looking for in a local writing workshop, starting the year as a participant and ending it as a facilitator. I had the flexibility and freedom as a freelancer to set my own schedule and prioritize travel, from the Camino to exploring more of North Africa. And, most importantly, I learned to trust in what I don’t know or can’t control, with the faith that what results is better than what I could have imagined.
