Wintering

a note on endings and beginnings

You might have noticed that I haven’t written a newsletter in a very long time.

Truthfully, the last six months have been so dark and difficult that I often wondered if I would ever write again, or if the sadness eating away at me would eventually go on to rob me of everything I have worked so hard to build for the last decade. But as worrying as that seemed, there was something comforting in the idea of letting go of that version of myself. To stop pretending I could be anything other than broken.

So I stilled, and I shrank, and I went into survival mode, ready to crumble now that I was alone for the first time since the age of 19. But somehow I made it through that initial shock and rupture, and the ensuing instability. And then I made it through the holidays and the seemingly unrelenting gloom of winter. And eventually I understood that I would in fact make it through this chapter of sadness and grief I once feared would come to define me, and that I was never actually alone.

Still, I accepted that writing would be out of reach for the time being, and that I would have to fill my cup in other ways until that desire returned to me. In the meantime, I found new things to love, like:

-the feeling of getting stronger lifting weights in the gym

-taking a long walk with an audiobook about the development of atomic weaponry or the Victorian race to decipher cuneiform or Cold War era espionage

-making a running goal (sub 30 minute 5k) I thought would take me all summer to reach, and achieving it (28:58!) in April instead (new goal is sub 25 minute!)

-spending time with my family and friends old and new who have shown up for me without hesitation, providing every kind of antidote to sadness that exists

-planning trips to places where the people who love me live (Mexico to see my dad and his girlfriend! Toronto to see some of my oldest friends! London to see a few of my dearest writing pals!)

and finally,

-knowing that my future is filled with endless possibility, and that the greatest loves of my life are yet to be discovered.

I’m happy to report that over the last six months, slowly but surely, I have begun to find myself again, and I have confirmed that my love of writing is not something that sorrow can excise from my being. And while art is not something I believe can only come from suffering, this season of my life has undoubtedly left a mark on me. I am not the person, woman, friend, sister, daughter, or writer I was before, but I do not need to be.

Because even in my lowest moments, I have not been able to ignore a strange, small flicker of gratitude kindling within, a reminder that it is a privilege to feel so deeply, to love so fully, to know the depths and peaks and valleys of a life well lived.

teams meeting with my dad so he could help me format my beastly 100k+ word doc

So while I have been absent for some time, I want to assure you that I have projects in the works, both announced and unannounced, that I am so excited to start talking about again.

But for now it is enough for me to know that the darkness of winter has receded, the spring flowers are in bloom, and though my garden is smaller than in years past, it is no less nourished by the sun, and no less beloved by the bees 🌼🐝☀️

More soon,
Emma