My Cocoon Year

I was so hopeful at the start of 2020. I was about to get married. It was a new decade. Husband and I got through the worst thing to happen to us, plus an immediate move, while planning a wedding, in my first year at a new job. Our friends were doing well — employed, seemed to know what they wanted out of life, married or dating or happily single (for the most part). We had just had a niece. We booked our honeymoon flights.

Garmin setting the mood for 2024.

I've lost all hope going into 2024. It's going to start out hard and get harder, personally and professionally. I'm facing the loss of at least four pets, including the one who's been with me throughout my entire adulthood. I'm deeply dissatisfied with everything about my job, from my pay to my influence to my ability to do what's best for the organization, even the very role I'm in (I hated marketing, how did I end up here?). I still feel geographically stuck. And it's unlikely that husband and I will get meaningful time for travel, or even a couple of long weekends that aren't for work or weddings or family obligations. I took six trips in 2023, five of which were for a wedding, a funeral, or work. We have one fun trip in mind for 2024, but that may not happen.

One of my favorite photos from the one fun trip we took in 2023.

Worse, a lot of my friends are struggling to find something in their lives. Most are unhappy with their jobs, not finding meaning or purpose or even a decent paycheck. Some are unhappily single. Some have their own family drama. Some moved far away and feel disconnected. And some are just getting through this year, too.

I'm thinking of 2024 as my cocoon year. Not that I expect to emerge a beautiful butterfly, or even have goals for 2025, or think much of anything will get better. But I need to acknowledge that 2024 is not the year for hope or goals or progress. It will be the gross, lonely, difficult year that sometimes has to happen. And honestly, maybe just acknowledging it will help me endure it — having expectations for the year ahead will just lead to disappointment, but if my expectations are rock bottom anything unexpected will fit right in. I want to skip this year in terms of the good cheer that I've always felt at the start and hold out that maybe I can feel that way again when I welcome 2025.

Maybe I should call this my mushroom year.

Recently, husband and I had a conversation about spirituality. Neither of us believe in an after life or any kind of higher power, but we do feel connected to the universe in a way. What I've always thought of as superstition might be better categorized as spirituality: like karma, if you do something bad, something bad will find you.

Little miss Rosa holding my hand — and the ring I lost.

Over the summer I lost a ring I'd had since... jeez, at least college. It was a three-strand infinity braid that lived on my pinky. The three-strand braid was a relic of my religious past, the holy trinity, but also how my life was inextricably intertwined with the higher power I was once deeply devoted to. The lack of a visible seam, no beginning or ending, was symbolic of eternity. My wedding ring has similar symbolism: the two-strand infinity twist reminds me how my husband and I are inextricably connected. For a few months I was upset about the loss of my pinky ring and looked everywhere for it, even dug through the Roomba discards. But then I started thinking that maybe it's time to say goodbye to the symbolism that ring held. Maybe I was holding on to something that no longer served me. Maybe I should look ahead, instead. So I bought a new ring. It's one solid ring that's been hammered flat. The single, solid ring represents just me. The hammered texture and infinity style will remind me that life will give me a beating sometimes, but life goes on. I'll wear this on my right ring finger because my relationship with myself is just as important as my relationship with anyone else, arguably even more so. Hopefully this reminder through what's going to be a very challenging year will be a comfort, and will stay with me for many years to come.

Randomly, I started a small worm farm in 2023. Hello, darkness.

I have to end this with a shoutout to husband (hi, husband). When the world felt like it ended right after we had the best day ever, we had a strong feeling of togetherness, joking that we had promised to be together forever but not every minute of forever. I had big family drama in 2020 and he listened to all of it and held my hand literally and metaphorically. Then it got bad in 2021, depressing in 2022 (we started doing drugs, highly recommend) and worse in 2023. I know he must really love me because he doesn't just stick it out — he's genuinely and deeply hurt if I even joke about him leaving. He knows what he's facing in the coming year. He knows I'll need him more than I ever have in our dozen years together. I know I could do this without him if I had to, but I'm grateful I don't have to. Marriage may not be sunshine and rainbows all the time, but nothing compares to the feeling of having that person in your corner no matter what. So, thank you, husband, I love you.