The completion of the turning of our planet around the sun commemorates (in human terms) the ending (and beginning) of a new year. There is an idea shared between all of us, collectively — it’s finally time for change. An intentional, punctuated plea for novelty ensues. It resembles a mid-shower thought. This necessity for change. The added up fatigue of recurrent mistakes, archaic patterns, overstayed prime ministers, obsolete Apple devices, the procrastinated decision to enter therapy, neglected friendships, repressed desire, and the list goes on.
I imagine all of us heaving a collective sigh as the clock strikes 12 on December 31. Clearly, I haven’t met my Harry (yet?). Cinema has infused the youth (and old) with the coveted fantasy of a kiss from a lover on New Year’s eve. As corny as the idea seems to the post-break-up-disillusioned writer, I understand this pressing need for intimacy. Who isn’t enamoured by the crimson heat of finding your face pressed against another’s chest on a chilly evening? The charms of being in the arms of a lover, often appearing in HD than 240p exactly at midnight are many. Entering the “new year” with an old grief is so 2000s!
The writer also sees the value in a holidate. After all, being in your late 20s and “rusting away” in singledom is coolness suicide on the social desirability scale. These esteemed milestones are highlighted around the chatter of festivals however, and can provoke a sense of lack – the void of being unpartnered, feeling stuck at a lacklustre job or a gnawing homesickness. This can send one into an overdrive of the urge to make rapid and widespread transformations overnight, which can be an unrealistic expectation that inevitably sets one up for failure. The merit in the link between mindfulness and decision-making is propined far and wide — from Buddhists to neuroscientists to aeronautical mobility researchers. How we perceive time is how much time we have in our hands.
In a time of resolutions for change, a way to slow down and reconnect is to hold on to our scrupulously crafted anchors. As we dive into the uncertain waters of a “new” year, taking stock of the tried-and-tested fail-safes of our tumultuous lives can be a secure shore — an antidote to our deepest insecurities. Robert Fulghum, the author of the bestseller book, From Beginning to End- the Rituals of our Lives expands on the value of paying attention to the behaviours that work over time and hence serve the profound purpose of stitching together the scattered wisdom we absorb on our way.
Not only are reliable rituals sacred for constructing a coherent sense of self, these dependable rites are also integral to our mental health. Point in case, the commonly cited grounding technique for anxiety — imagining a safe space. The corner in our mind that contains dependability; maybe the childhood room, friends and family who hold us with grace in good times and bad or a stack of diaries comprising important markers of our lives. The safety of these places are perhaps determined by their consistent ability to support us. No matter what, one likely finds solace in some familiarity.
Ancillary to our individual anxieties are systemic lapses one encounters year after year. The fracturing of democracies and political unrest threaten our psychological sense of security. The Nordic countries consistently enviable life satisfaction numbers in the World Happiness Report (WHR) echo this truth. People are happier when there is overarching reliability in state welfare schemes, well-functioning democracies and social trust.
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Come to think of it, we must have done something right that we are present for another year of our lives. The idea is to convince yourself to begin this voyage with your familiar rituals and memorabilia — sure reminders of your personhood; battle-wounds and victories alike. In a world where increasingly, tangible is synonymous with reality, meaning-making of our experiences through poetry, theatre or therapy is essential armour.
On the unavoidable matter of New Year resolutions, most of us speak to ourselves with the tone of an exceedingly strict parent or a mean corporate boss. As if, the calibration of our life depends on the aggregate numbers achieved in our annual reports. Needless to say, new beginnings bring with them a sense of renewal and a chance at self-improvement. But self-criticism can often override self-improvement. The diabetic positivity in the WhatsApp forwards makes one dissonant. Why can’t I feel the joy? It’s like being fed when you’re not hungry. Sometimes, all we have to do is to go back to our resource bank, look at what we have, before we go hankering after the next big thing. If we look around, the mementoes that surround us tell the story of a cherished life.
This has to be the magic ingredient in connecting with ourselves — the certainty of a mountain, the perennial presence of the sky, the intimacy of being loved by a pet. Amidst the cacophony of mindless productivity, it’s a relieving idea to stay close to our natural humanness, the organised chaos that can be our life. Embracing the old while welcoming the unknown is not a fixation on the past. It is a steady promise of a more authentic future.
Grover is a psychologist and writer
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