This year hit hard. Saying it was tough is an understatement.
Since I’m often in a reflective mood, I rarely give much attention to year-end summaries. But this year feels different; it deserves a closer look.
To mark the end of this year, I want to share some lessons from the last twelve months. Lessons I will most likely have to return to time and time again. In no particular order…
I’m not sure how else to say it, but she’s a doozy. I’m becoming convinced that our main job in life is to learn how to grieve, and we’re collectively pretty bad at it. There’s no manual on how to live life as a tender human.
Someone said that grief is unexpressed love, or love without a home, and yes, I agree, to a certain degree. When we’re talking about a loved one leaving us, sure. But we need to grieve more than just people and pets.
You have to grieve the life you thought you would have. The childhood you needed but didn’t get. The almost relationships, the failed attempts, the stumbles along the way.
And they say that grief isn’t linear, and I’m starting to understand that. This year, I had a very cute and very short fling end, and it triggered a several-month-long grief hole cry-fest that touched a wound that has been there since childhood. I’m grateful for it, but it knocked me on my ass. And during that time, my sweet dog passed away.
You just can’t plan this shit out.
My dad used to say, “Cash is king,” but he never spoke about community. His other favorite expression was “trust but verify,” which is the motto of someone with trust issues, for sure.
Never underestimate the value of a loving and supportive community. When I moved to LA earlier this year, right before the heinous fires, I knew a few people there. And slowly but surely, over the first six months, I made a few friends. But I also spent a lot of time alone. When I came back to Montreal for my yearly summer pilgrimage, I understood that nothing replaces spending time with people who have known me for years.
The ease of dropping in, not having to share your life story, and being surrounded by people who know me is a balm for my soul. Stay tuned for a podcast episode on building community and making friends as an adult, especially if you’re planning on moving to a new place.
If my dad’s motto is “trust but verify,” mine is “less is more.”
And while I firmly believe that we don’t need nearly as much as we think we do, I still get trapped thinking that more is more.
Palliative care nurse Bronnie Ware, who documented common regrets of the dying in her work with terminally ill patients, found that at the end of life, “it all comes down to love and relationships. That is all that remains in the final weeks.”
At the end of the day (and your life), what’s most important isn’t the money in the bank or the things we’ve accumulated, it’s the quality of your relationships.
My life in Montreal is simple. No car, small apartment, low expenses, and plenty of loved ones. And I still yearn for more money, status, and power. It’s hard not to fall for the seduction of more. I’m also convinced that being raised in the US has influenced my desire for material wealth over relational wealth, and I kind of hate it.
Hate to admit how much fear runs my life, but it does. And I don’t think I’m alone. I was listening to Michael Singer, the author of The Untethered Soul, yesterday, talk about how most people’s life is ruled by fear. And it’s not something most of us would admit to. But, I think he’s right. Because deep down, there’s a lot I’m scared of.
I’m scared of being alone, but also scared of losing my freedom. I’m scared of flopping with my podcast relaunch, but also scared of what will happen if it takes off. I yearn to be seen, but I am terrified of truly being seen.
I’m terrified of missing out and being left behind. I sometimes get paralyzed, trying to choose what’s best. This paralysis relates directly to my struggle with letting go: every choice means surrendering another path, and if grief is hard, so is moving forward.
As I look at the roots of my fears, I’m reminded of just how hard it can be to simply be with myself.
Earlier this year, I hired a coach to help me get unstuck. Because I’m stuck. Creatively, professionally, and personally.
Part of his curriculum involves a daily thirty-minute meditation. And I can see just how hard I resist doing it. We’ve been working together for about 4 months, and I’ve only missed three days, but every day is a struggle. I’m always glad after it’s over, but starting is the hardest part.
And I’m realizing just how often I want to run from being with myself and which coping behaviors I’m using. Scrolling, using nicotine, porn, watching TV, and eating junk food. I use it all to get out of myself, because being with myself is painful at times.
When I stop and sit, I have to be with me, and I don’t always love what I see or feel. Everything I’m trying to avoid comes up. My fears, past wounds, unprocessed grief, self-judgments, it’s all there, and I know the only way out is through, and yet, at times, it feels insurmountable.
Through all these lessons, one truth keeps returning—the humility of uncertainty.
It’s frustrating: the more I learn, the less I seem to know. Admitting this is humbling, especially as I’m seen as knowledgeable about relationships and communication. I openly struggle in these areas too.
My therapist likes to say that my greatest strength is also my greatest weakness.
That’s the truth. I’m not doing so well, and it’s hard to admit. It’s hard to struggle publicly, but I’m not sure how else to do it. It’s also somehow hard to show you all that romantic relationships are hard for me, yet that’s the truth.
I’ve also learned that as someone who shares quite freely of himself, it’s best to do so from the scar, and not the wound. So when I do share, you can be certain that I’m not completely down in the dumps, but that I’ve found some space to write and share.
And at the same time, I know that the reason I’m struggling so much is because of how much I’m uncovering around my relational patterns, my attachment styles, the unprocessed childhood grief that I’m working through, and the fear of moving again and the uncertainty that brings.
So, brighter days ahead.
Also, something about this next year being the year for Virgos… so if Mercury could chill, that’d be great. Let’s go.
And, thank you for being here. Your support always means the world to me.
