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  • new year

    With the new year, I've been thinking about newness, and the rawness of the new--new babies, new families, and new ways of being. This article addresses this kind of experience, and the ways in which our experience can be transformed. The author wonders:

    What would it be like in winter, awake in that dark silent house, holding a baby I couldn’t even imagine? I’d always thought of the deepest part of night as the witching hour, a time, my childhood books had taught me, that was not for humans. In a month or so, I’d see the witching hour again and again.

    Then my son was born, and what shocked me most — more than the surprising goriness of my body’s healing, more than the strange sounds newborns make, more than the ferocity of my nursing-mother appetite — were the nights. Those long, dark, cold winter nights I had feared more than childbirth itself. They became something I hadn’t known a night could be: a haven. A shelter. 

    It's a lovely read for these short days, when the year is still new, and we feel ready to make changes to the ways in which we experience the world.