Not carrying. But, carrying on.

by Rachel Kang

I woke up early one morning, while the moon was bright and frost kissed the windows of every car in sight.

In the sky above—that dark blanket of black—I saw the rising sun come out from hiding. Out of the horizon, thin layers of gold lifted with light like a long, gaping yawn. Colors awakening the day, as if to say good morning.

As I a drove out east, into the sunrise, into the glimmering dance of the dawn, I couldn't help but think:

How do we rise to the wonder of a new year without looking back on the weight of the year we leave behind? How do we keep our gaze forward without turning our eyes to glance back?

The answer, I suppose, is that we don't.

Because, though the arrival of a new day shines a light to lead us onward, the memory of yesterday sings a song to lead us inward.

We always live with both the wonder of a new year and the weight of the years we leave behind, just like we will always live with both the blinding light and the dwelling darkness.

It is the paradox of living:

There is hope,
and there is hurt.

There is joy,
and there is pain.

There is growth,
and there is grief.

There is life,
and there is loss.

This year that we leave behind is, undoubtedly, one filled with a collective grief, a collective trauma.

And, while this is a truth and a reality that we will contemplate for years to come, what if we left it behind, like a photo in a frame.

Something to look back on and learn from, but not to grip and grasp at.

Something, not to get lost in the gaze of what was but, instead, something to turn our eyes to imagine and hope of what will be.

Not carrying.
But, carrying on.

That is the theme that you will find interwoven between the pieces that we will feature this month and this season on our new blog.

Pieces that reflect and remember, as well as pieces that remind of what it’s like to look ahead.

Pieces that don't ignore the hurt that is, but that neither ignore the hope that will always be.

Welcome these words. Hear their lessons, receive their truths.

Might they lead you to carry on—to a way of walking without the weight of this year we leave behind.

Like light breaking forth in the midst of the night, in the midst of this world's weariness, let a new year awaken, let your wonder awaken.

Rachel Kang

Today's piece is by Rachel Kang, founder of Indelible Ink Writers. Connect with her on Instagram at @rachelmariekang.