What story do you want to tell this year?
“Winter, when the green Earth lies resting beneath the blanket of snow. This is the time for storytelling. The storytellers begin by calling upon those who came before who passed the stories down to us. For we are the only messengers.”
from Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
I'm beginning this year as I ended it, depleted and worn down. I'm not quite sure how to proceed this year. I didn't have time to rest at the end of last year or have space to reflect. And I've started it in a way that doesn't allow for much space or time to reflect either, but I know deep in my guts that during these next few weeks, it's imperative that we rest and reflect before steaming ahead. Maybe you feel that way too.
In so many ways, the turning of the year is arbitrary, yet we humans cling to ritual and tradition — as we should. There is so little ritual left in this modern life. And so, of course, there's something sacred in that movement from one year to the next. And though I have yet to write any resolutions, though I have yet to breathe any intentions into this year — I am thinking about what story I want to tell.
I am thinking about how important the story I decide to tell is. I want to make my mark on this year. I want to keep going with my story. The stories I tell others and the ones I keep private. The quiet story I tell each morning with my daily rituals and the ones I write down and share with you. The story I tell simply by being alive. And I do believe that the stories I wish to tell, in all the forms they take, are worth telling.
So here I am in my vulnerability and rawness — as I have always tried to show up in this newsletter. Professing that I'm tired and worn down. And that's okay. There is still time to rest. We are still in winter; I can still slow myself down.
Over the weekend, my friend, the poet Tonya Ingram passed away. Though we weren't close, we did form a bond over the past few years. Tanya shared so freely of herself for so long. Her poetry and her light will continue to shine in her absence. I'm so grateful I had the opportunity to have her on my podcast. I'm so grateful that she was so up for doing it. I’m so grateful that she told her story and kept telling it. If you feel moved to listen, you can find our episode here.
She was the very first person I reached out to when the idea for So, Life Wants You Dead was still germinating. I was so worried she might say no. Her enthusiastic ‘yes’ gave me a huge gift. It gave me the gift of permission: maybe this show could be something beyond the idea in my brain. If this supremely talented human who had been seen on poetry slam stages and published in varied publications wanted to speak to me? Well, shit, maybe my idea had legs. She probably didn’t know the gift she gave me by saying yes because I never had a chance to tell her, so instead I’m telling you.
She gave me so many more gifts as time continued during our conversations. Through her words, her love, her generosity, her easy laugh and the way she spoke her poems out, the way she spoke about hope and her illness — with a gravitas beyond her years. With a sense of humour — she didn’t take herself too seriously. You can see that in her poems.
The first time I spoke to Tonya was in 2020. I remember exactly where I sat and what the night sky looked like above my London flat. I took so many notes, I really wanted to get it right. But speaking to her was like meeting an old friend, and I immediately felt at ease, my neuroses fell away. We spoke for over an hour about all the things. There has been an outpouring of love online since Tonya’s passing; it seems Tonya was a friend to many. She was well-loved, and loved well.
The measure of care and brightness she took in our initial conversations is a testament to who Tonya was as a person. In the conversations I got to have with her, she always gave so much of herself — she always shared her love, talent and wisdom so freely. I am so sad she is gone. It’s not fair. But her words and the beauty she shared with us all will stay with me. The last time we spoke was only a couple of weeks ago,
I want to leave you today with a few of her poems, which I hope you’ll read slowly. I hope you’ll print one out and keep it on your desk. I hope you’ll find time to read it to a friend or send it to a colleague. For no other reason than you’re alive, here breathing, and you can.
Welcome to 2023 on Serenity Never. What story do you want to tell this year? What stories do you want to fill your life with? How do you want it to play out?
Nora xx
All poems below by Tonya Ingram
Until the Stars Collapse
you owe it to yourself to quit being the apology. to hold your hand and sing your favorite song. to love another and see how far that will go. to love yourself and forget where you were headed in the first place. love is a funny story. it wakes up and builds a plot. it wakes up and shapes you into the kind of woman your mother studies. i am not per- fect in it. i am not even remotely articulate, but it is big, this love. it is airborne and triumphant. i am no easy show. i hurt like the climb of my lineage. i hurt on purpose. i hurt to not be hurt. no, none of this is an excuse. just a blueprint. a map. come find me when the day is bronze and the sorrow is full. i am building my poem in this here heart. all of it is a working title.honor your imperfections. honor the birthmark on the side of your face. the inability to tell your left from your right. how horrible you are at giving directions. honor the short- comings. the reasons for failing the test. honor the defeat. the game-winning shot you missed. the ex you keep going back to. the moment you told yourself no more and res- urrected a lie. honor the drools, the wedgies, the constant tripping over your feet. honor the weeping. the unknown name of your father. the doctor’s note. the journey that may not be perfect but is yours. thank goodness for how sensitive you are. how you shine. thank goodness for each flaw. for each thing trying to work against you not knowing it is working for you.
a reminder to those of us who feel insignificant
you are made of stardust. you are a galaxy reborn. take sight. look up. the love thumpin’ in your heart’s radio is infinite. you, small radiant planet. you, bursting, full moon. you are an earth poem, an unending story of how did you get here and who was your first love and what scares you most. take sight. look up. it is ok to abandon the day and be as still as the North Star or as big as Jupiter. you are wondrous and something to be marveled at. you are a sight to see.it is ok to be the draft. the unfinished. the still-working-on- it. the not yet. to hang up on the bill collector. to sweat in places that you “shouldn’t” sweat. to ask someone to prom and get rejected. it is ok to pile your uncertainties. to run into a glass door. to define alone as a song you wrote for yourself. it is ok to not have the words. to shut the blinds and collect the sadness. to hydrate, deactivate, and meditate, in that order. to be afraid of how the next one will handle your heart. it is ok to give side-eye and deep breath because there was once a day like the one you are having and you made it out of that one. remember that. it is ok to be constantly in the making.
how to deal with anxiety
greet the morning. there is a dawn with your name on it. seek the ocean and a bowl of strawberries. paint your face in opulence and unbothered swag. ask someone for the Netflix, Hulu, HBO passwords. find those who will hold your heart and not rattle it. be ok with being rattled. let the breeze bring you home. bring you every good thing you have to say about yourself. quiet the voice that tells you otherwise. people-watch. read anything but the news. examine the dance in those who call today a miracle. today is beautiful even in its bullshit. bless the breath that keeps you. bless
the shot of whiskey and the club you find yourself lost in. lay down and look up. cry. curse. whisper “this too shall pass” even if you don’t believe it yet.
the universe will hear you. will lend its planets in celebration of you. will tell the stars your story. how you got here. how you survive.