The Holiday After The Holiday

Returning home after our holiday and a full end of year. Letting things settle before deciding what comes next.

We came home after visiting family up north, arriving in the early evening. The house had been closed for a while. I opened doors, put bags down where they landed, and left most of it alone. I stood there briefly before deciding what to do first and settling on choosing nothing.

The weeks before had been busy at the end of the year. Lists stuck to the fridge. Duplicate lists forgotten in the bottom of my handbag. Days demanding constant attention. Tunnel vision of tasks to be done. I kept the pace, there wasn’t much space to stop, only enough to keep moving. It’s a familiar stretch of time at the end of the year, loud with expectation and I don’t fight it. It has its place.

Now back at home, I want to sit and daydream and wander for a while. The need for a holiday after the holiday. The garden had kept going without me, so I’ve spent time outside most mornings, doing a little and then admiring, without distraction. Only after breathing in the quiet did the year begin to feel like it had turned. Not with plans, but with a sense of where I was sitting now. The rush behind me. 

I went into the studio once. I opened the door, stood there, and left again. There was no need to start anything yet. The studio doesn’t mind waiting. Neither do I. The year is beginning in its own way. No declarations, no rush to define it. Just the sense of standing at the edge of something new and trusting it knows what to do. For now, that feels like enough.

--AM