not a normal year

As the freight train of twenty-twenty gains steady momentum towards the finale of what can only be described as a spectacular fiasco, it would be almost rude not to give a standing ovation. It has been a hell of a show.

A year of the unforeseeable. A year of revelation. A year of trick-after-trick. We took the version of life that we knew and challenged the crap out of it. We learned that we were not as untouchable, unreachable + unfuckwithable as first thought and actually, we never were. Constructs around us collapsed like a sack of shit, sometimes scaring us, other times relieving us. And importantly, we learned who, and what, we reach for when seas are unsteady.

Each day a therapy session, a slap in the face, a wake-up call.

This year, our plans for a normal life were royally intercepted. The machine miraculously grinded to a halt. Some of us keeled over in disbelief, while many of us welcomed the intermission. It felt like a moment where hopeful, quiet change might slip in and weave its magic, like it does in the movies. But instead of rehabilitating the machine to work more efficiently, equally + sustainably… somebody just put an “out of order” sign on it and told us to hold fire - life would be back to “normal” soon.

And to some degree, the fight for normal, or a new normal, fiercely presses on. Because prior to this year, that ‘normal’ life, we were sure, would last forever. The more privilege we sported, the more time + delusion we could buy ourselves. But in our preoccupation with “normal”, we managed to overlook something much more significant - our glorious impermanence. Is life for eating with a knife + fork or are we here to devour it wildly + voraciously, licking the plate completely clean?

The word ‘normal’ is now starting to make me feel like I’ve eaten something out of date. Normal is not sustainable. Normal does not allow us to evolve, nor be accountable. Normal got us into this shit in the first place. And perhaps normal is the biggest mask of all?

As I tell my kids, normal is bullshit. It is a concept that keeps us happy prisoners: a little too comfortable + safe to feel life’s edges and a little too paranoid + afraid to break free into a world that doesn’t come with a guarantee.

The idea of normal, which is drip-fed to us beautifully from a systemic mainstream narrative, is at the root of mental ill-health, addictions and self-worth issues. It keeps us small, sick and distracted. It breeds apathy. It is an effective, invisible target to “work towards” whilst keeping us perpetually preoccupied with how far we have to go. It sells an idea that we’ll rest one day after all this hard work and when we do, it will be SO DAMN GOOD that we won’t even remember the hours, years, decades of our lives that we handed over so easily doing shit we hate.

A new year is symbolic of a new beginning. It incites hope, provides a clear canvas + allows for a renewed enthusiasm that “we’ll do better next time”. And to seal the deal, we even ring it in with a resolution: a promise that we’ll be more dedicated, sober, kinder, time-managed, thinner, happier, smarter, loveable, successful from now on.

And for the first week, we may even pull it off.

It is tempting to banish this godforsaken year forever. We want to dive into 2021 like it’s a pool of chocolate jello or the arms of a spicy new lover. But perhaps our haste to faceplant into January 1 is foolhardy if we do not assimilate the lessons of this year?

Because flipping the calendar changes very little. And life does not care for a Gregorian calendar. In fact, you might say life (not to mention nature) has an absolute disregard for schedules + plans altogether. Chaos reigns when it reigns, and not when we can prepare for it financially or emotionally or psychologically. Often it is brutal when it arrives; our remaining scars a reminder that we are simply not in charge.

Perhaps our salvation looms not in 2021, but in our personal + individual excavation. In our realisation that we are enough and that we’ve always been enough. Perhaps it is in the revelation that our fuck-ups + suffering will annoyingly play on repeat until we stop projecting them onto eachother and instead bring our attention inward toward that big bleeding, beating thing inside our chest.

Perhaps our salvation is no grand gesture but in the small shifts of our daily habits.

All the science, security, safety + savings in the world will neither reveal nor measure life’s mysteries, any more than it unlocks the enigma of purpose + soul + heart. Because from the moment we erupted into the world, all squishy + tiny, it has been OUR journey to us to discover these things for ourselves.

So, as we hit the final homestretch of this shitshow-of-a-year; arms-a-flailing, eyes-boggling, screaming like banshees + here, whether we like it or not - I will not wish you a stock-standard Happy New Year. Instead, I wish you something of far greater value.

I wish for you all that is untouchable + impervious: all that remains within your grasp when constructs crumble.

Community. Gratitude. Protection. Faith. Love. Purpose. Energy. Connection.

May you see it, reach for it, gather it in, keep it close + allow it to grow. And when it grows, I hope it spills out of your skin + bones + eye sockets + ears + hair follicles, permeating your homes + loved ones + the world around you…. allowing a new world to germinate, where there is no such thing as normal

❤️