the one where I exist in a tiny pocket of peace
a short reflection on family, love, and moments of simplicity.
If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be spending my new year’s eve sitting on my 3-year old niece’s swing set, watching the fireworks from a backyard in Collinsville, Mississippi with my whole family, I would have had to sit down and think long and hard about how that even came to be.
I used to keep track of all my new year’s eves and vaguely rate them by how fun or cinematic they felt. This was an easy thing to do when I was 10, and all I had was the five new year’s between gaining consciousness and then to compare it to. I am now turning 25 this year, and years feel increasingly shorter as I get older. I used to think each year was so long, and I couldn’t fathom that older people had gone through forty, let alone 80 of those. It felt painfully long, like nothing that long could be that good.
But I’m turning 25 this year, and I don’t mind the new year’s eve days that don’t feel fun or cinematic anymore. Sometimes it’s just another night. Some new year’s eves I don’t even stay up until midnight anymore, and I think to myself “wow, this is what getting older must feel like,” and I get excited at the idea.
This New year’s eve was not just another night though. In fact, it was quite special, and it almost sneaked up on me how special it was.
It should come to no one’s surprise at this point that I have a tendency to romanticize things, especially things I’m experiencing for the first time and haven’t quite fully understood yet. I won’t get into whether that’s ultimately a good or a bad thing, I’m more so warning the reader that this may be one of those cases.
I spent the three weeks prior to arriving to Mississippi mostly sitting in the dining room of my sister’s house in Florida, from where I worked remotely. She was mostly gone all day, and I don’t particularly know anyone living within a 100 mile radius, and I don’t own a car in Florida because I don’t live there, so what I’m saying is hers was the only possible social interaction I had every day (and I mostly didn’t).
I didn’t particularly mind any of this, in fact I often get overwhelmed by too many social interactions per week if I’m in a specific mood (which I have been in lately), but the lack of interaction in addition to only leaving the house to look at houses to buy, bank deposits to make, or mortgage pre-approvals to obtain, had become the perfect recipe for a pretty Sisyphean month. (and yes, this is my soft opening to my post “I may or may not be buying a house”).
There’s been a lot of things in my mind, due to the nature of it being end-of-the-year and my being an overly reflective person. Also, because this new year may bring a lot of changes. I’m temporarily moving in with my partner, I may be buying a house, I may be getting a working visa, I may be starting a master’s, I may be moving to Europe, I’m definitely doing a half ironman… Lots of maybe’s and changes. Enough changes that when my parents arrived to the Florida airport halfway through my Sisyphean month, I almost missed them. As in, there was so much in my head I could barely acknowledge them. My dad couldn’t tell because I think this is how my dad’s brain has probably operated for the past three decades; split between bills, work, fantasies of all kinds, and his daughters. But my mom could tell before we’d even arrived home from the airport.
So we go on this completely uncharacteristic family trip where we a) don’t rent a ridiculous and way-past-our-budget SUV, and b) drive 12 hours and c) actually make it without a single argument, and, everything goes well? There’s no crying except for the bittersweet type, and there’s not much in my mind other than a familiar longing to keep on holding to a simpler life.
I didn’t expect to enjoy my time in Mississippi as much as I did. There were mental barriers I had to overcome before I decided that I could enjoy it. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to 22 hours of driving in the span of 4-days in a tiny sedan with my parents. And as much as I was excited to see my nieces and sister one more time this year, it also felt like four days where I wouldn’t be able to eat my favorite vegetarian foods (and stomach problems are a real downer for me).
But the drive was fun (I’m writing this as we’re driving back to Florida). My sister and I got to drive my parents while we listened to an audiobook. It was my first time driving my parents since I’d learned how to drive after I’d left Panama, and it was the first time my sister and I sat on the front and they sat on the back. I smiled, pleased with myself, when my dad later mentioned during dinner how safe and good of a driver I’d turned out (I was trying my best).
And the food was not a problem, either. Much of my worries simmered down the moment we arrived to Mississippi. My sister’s house is mostly packed with organic fruits and healthy snacks. And I’d decided since I’m pretty clean about what I eat everywhere else, I was down to embrace some of the more southern meals during my time there. Like the sweet beans my sister’s mother-in-law prepare at the farm when we visited, along with the queso dip, baked cookies, and the deer sausages my sister’s husband had shot down and processed a few weeks ago.
We visited a farm the day before new year’s eve. Turns out, my sister’s in-laws owned over 100 acres of land for livestock, and we were only an hour-drive away from where they lived. I’d never been to or known a farm before this weekend, so I didn’t know how to dress or what to expect. We were told we were going there for lunch only, so I absentmindedly packed just my phone and a book, leaving most things I usually refuse to not bring with me, like my camera gear and laptop, behind.
The day at the farm turned out to be quite the trip. I felt like I was back in elementary school, in the back of a bus on a field trip day, systematically learning about all the parts of a place and a lifestyle I’d only ever experience as an outsider (but would fantasize about from there on). I regretted not bringing my camera, but maybe also secretly felt relieved that there was only my memory to capture moments with. It was either that or reading my book.
I think it was that I felt like a kid in a room with older people again. Where all I did was play outside or wait for supper or read my book. I wasn’t nagged by the constant urge to do more, be more, or have more. Perhaps the feeling wasn’t sustainable for the life I want, but I didn’t have to think about that and I could just dwell in peace.
The next day was similarly good for the same reasons. We drove to the lake and walked around the boardwalk until sunset. It was quiet if not for the sound of our voices, but the open and deserted nature made each laughter a welcoming sound. It was a dreamlike evening, like it had existed just for us. The sky tucking us under, for the last time in the year, with the most colorful pink and orange and yellow brushstrokes, mixing with the dark blue of wave-like cirrus clouds over the lake.
The night ended with a fireplace and s’mores, and a cozy time waiting for midnight to arrive. The girls couldn’t make it until midnight, and I was genuinely sad not to greet my little nieces in the new year. They’d be asleep by the time we headed out in the morning too. I kissed them goodnight with anticipated sadness.
I greeted the new year in what I’ve always considered it the best way possible: no phone within reach, no watch around my wrist, just sharing a good moment and a family countdown, making wishes for the upcoming year with my loved ones, each with their own hopes and dreams and expectations in mind. I was immersed in pure bliss and love and peace and appreciation for this time alive.
These holidays were also the first time my brain articulated the thought that my parents are growing old. That perhaps there were no arguments on the drive because my dad didn’t have the youngling fighter in him anymore and it was easier to let things just slide (or perhaps both of our years in therapy have reaped its rewards, we sure hope). When I first hugged my mom she smelled less like how I assume she normally smells and more like an item that’s been tucked away for a while (which is how I describe most old people smelling like). My dad feels smaller and my mom more fragile, they walked slowly behind us at the lake because they don’t keep up with us anymore. They held hands and I glanced back every few minutes to make sure they were doing ok, and I can’t ever hold my concerned thoughts for longer than a few seconds before I start crying (as I inevitably am right now).
My dad heaves when he’s just sitting down and I constantly worry about his health. I watch out for what he’s eating more than he does, and I’m constantly asking him to be careful with his steps so as not to mistakenly trip. I feel more safe when I or my sister drive than when he or my mom do, which is totally uncalled for, but I guess part of what young adult’s false confidence must feel like. I think of 30-year mortgage loans or 10-year goal plans in terms of what my parents’ age will be by then. I’m painfully aware of their growing old and I guess at some point I must’ve realize parenthood was as much about them experiencing us grow older as it was about us experiencing them.
I don’t mean to feel it so intensely (and I never do, really) but I have the overwhelming gratitude of experiencing their present and the awareness of our diminishing time equally weighing on each moment we spend together. I don’t think it ever takes away from the moment and I don’t think I’ll regret it in hindsight, but sometimes it feels like a lot more love than I can put words to before I burst into tears.
So that’s what today’s post is. A post about all the love I feel and can’t put words to. A short story about spending new year’s with my family in a small rural town where everything but us felt extremely distant and unimportant for a few days.
I think family is just people you experience growing old as you grow old yourself. The circumstances of why you experience them are within your control to varying degrees. Like, you might feel you have no choice but to experience in proximity the growth of an obnoxious cousin, and that’s family. But most friends that feel like family, for example, feel like so because you’ve chosen to witness their growth. And, there’s no reason for me to go out of my way to experience a child’s journey into adulthood, unless she happens to be a loved one’s child, and that’s family too. To say, “and now you’re my family” is to say “and now I’m committed to witness your growth in this world.”
I guess I was moved by this new year’s eve because its simplicity could’ve led me to miss how special it was, but it didn’t. It only highlighted that there is a finite amount of new year’s I’ll get to experience with my parents (and, really, it’s the only time of the year I get to see them anymore), but that a door is open for me to experience a younger side of the family. To experience four generations of us together, so far from home, made my heart so full. And I just wanted to write these thoughts down before the memory escaped my mind.
I’m usually unsure of who I write these for but quite frankly, this one feels almost exclusively for myself. Perhaps, if I become an important figure in history, this is for my biographer too.
Thank you for reading this more personal, less usual type of writing. And I’ll see you all next week with the usual newsletter post :) Happy 2024!
Much love,
Nicole🌊
p.s., If you liked this longform reflection, you might also enjoy “An old song, forgotten”.
Beautifully written