For the past few years I've engaged in the New Year's practice of choosing a word for the year. Last year my word was window.
I've been thinking about this year's word for several days now. I worked hard to make my word be "joy," because I've recently returned from an out of town wedding and I wanted to retain the pure and utter delight I felt at that event. My face kept hurting from smiling so much.
But then I came home.
Don't get me wrong, there's not a problem, and I'm glad to be here. It's just that you can't live in a liminal space forever, and that's where I'd been. Joy is fleeting, and can't be forced.
One of my regular challenges is my response to Ken's ongoing difficulties with eating and with feeling bad. As hard as I try, I regularly find myself either wanting to believe that I should be able to "fix" the situation or just that it's my fault somehow.
Right. Because I'm that powerful.
Anyway, I was awake much of last night, and as I pondered words (one of which was ponder) I felt as though I was in a boat, with words bumping gently up against my bow and presenting themselves for my consideration.
Clear was the word that stuck, that I fished out of the water and set beside me to keep. It applies in all the parts of speech - noun, verb, adjective and adverb. I want to clear the stuck ideas from my consciousness; clear the cluttered surfaces of my home; I want to be clear in what I ask and in what I state.