“Some people measure time with clocks, but I live from winter to winter.” -Zemfira, “Traffic”

I often joke the explicit lessons of Unitarian Universalism are love, justice, interconnectedness, the importance of community, our relationship to existence… the implicit lesson is fire safety. We start our time together lighting a candle in a chalice. If you’re the religious education teacher, you’re teaching the kids about how to safely handle matches. The Christmas Eve service included candles, with instructions on how to best pass the light (person with the lit candle holds it steady; unlit candle meets it at an angle). Today, for the fire communion, it was flash paper etiquette. Give space, stand back, hold the paper in the tongs, put in fire, fling upward. Before this, of course: walk to the front of the room, pencil in the things we wish desired to retire, then feed it to the fire. Watch the flash paper ignited bright and dissolved into the air.

I wrote a habit and a name. I left both with the flame.

I didn’t necessarily realize it in the moments, but Twenty Twenty-four was a better year than Twenty Twenty-three. I feel different. My headspace feels changed, like a room organized more favorably. The anxiety is in the cabinet, the joy in on the table, ready to be taken at a moment’s notice. I found more ways to rest.

Twenty twenty-four introduced me to aging as a more tangible experience. I’m still outrunning gray hair and most wrinkles (somehow), but arthritis has made a permanent home in one of my knees and my eyes work less effectively in the dark. I told my eye doctor about how I struggle to see at night when driving – in response, he told me on which roads he no longer rides his motorcycle when it’s dim. When these issues presented, I wanted to be at an age with a 5 in the tens place – not one with a 3. But here we are. I’m very grateful everything else in my body, knock on wood, is working pretty good. I spent some of this evening resurfacing my headlights – maybe that will help the night driving.

I disappeared from work for a couple weeks to take care of a chronic medical issue. I recuperated in a hammock under autumn leaves. That was perfect. The issue is fixed, and so is some of my workaholism. My fantastic team held down the fort and the community barely noticed my absence. My relationship to my job continued its decade-long shift from “its part of my identity” to “something I do, one of many things I do and care very deeply about.” It’s more flexible. I do a lot of things.

Another thing I did, and am doing, is that I’m the board of trustees president for my church. Anyone who pursues leadership out of a desire to exalt themselves is doing it wrong and is destined to be unsuccessful. Leadership is not about your personal status. Leadership is about aiming your energy towards the betterment of other people. I’ve learned a lot this year; some of those lessons are in how much more I have to learn. Service is a way to live your faith. I’m grateful for the growth this has given me.

The children whose origins began in my body are now large enough to wear my clothes and shoes. This was foreseen: their father is over a foot taller than me. My days as “second tallest” in my family appear to be nearing their permanent end. Both of my kids have found some passions this year, and watching that has been a joy.

Ivan, our 13 year-old Siamese-Tabby mix, passed away. It was terrible. We lived four months without a cat in the house. I’m here on good authority: that’s no way to live.

In August, Satine (three year-old Russian blue mix) and Rex (now 8 month-old gray tabby kitten) joined us. They were bonded. Rex warmed to us instantly. He’s unbothered by water, vacuums, and chaos. He likes the leash because it means he goes outside. He’s innocent, like it’s never occurred to him that something bad could happen. Satine is what the vet calls “a spicy kitty.” Soon after moving in, it became clear: she picked Will. That living with Will meant also living with the rest of us? Eh. Now she brushes up against me. I have found her sleeping next to me or the kids. The number of hisses we hear on a daily basis has decreased dramatically but is not yet zero. Slow and steady builds the relationship. Satine and Rex cannot replace Jada and Ivan. Instead, they are becoming Irreplaceable Presence 2.0, a new, distinct variety. We adore them.

After a lengthy bathroom renovation, I gained a deeper appreciation for modern plumbing. It’s great. Turns out I’m a huge fan of having a shower. Fixing my house is funny. On one hand, we’ve done a lot to make it sturdier and more lovely. You’d think that would lead to an improved emotional experience of being inside of it. In some ways, it does. On the other hand, I now know more than I ever wanted to about how a house can break. My home is both beloved shelter and a potential for disaster. I’m not sure a different house would be a different emotional experience. People lament Buffalo’s rotting city houses – but all houses rot. The city houses just had more time to fight Mother Nature.

I tripled the number of bicycles I own, which sounds like a foolish sentence given that I can only ride one bicycle at a time. I have a fancy bike, a winter rat so I don’t ruin the fancy bike, and the Rockhopper I actually rode almost into the ground. The unfancy two will likely become my children’s primary riders next year for reasons detailed four paragraphs ago.

The most obvious development this year: I got back into writing. I’m still recovering some of the repartee that characterized my prior work. I’m finding ways to better live creativity and keeping secrets; silence conquered too much of my inspiration after I took my current job. I’m getting better.

I set the box of darkness on fire; it flashed bright and swirled into the air. Maybe it combusted on its own. Whatever; it’s air and ash now. Mary Oliver said her box of darkness was a gift; my gift isn’t going to be something I can point to tangibly. More like coping with the lack-thereof. A useful experience, but not one I liked.

I love the fire communion: the symbolism, the invitation to let go, the community, and the activity of it. The truth is that all of a year is left in that year, unless you drag it with you. Flash and fade, and move forward.

This past year was lived in the moments, and a lot of them were joyful. I leave twenty twenty-four with gratitude – including for you all, as readers. I appreciate your attention, thoughts, and consideration. Thank you for being here. I appreciate you.