The last time I wrote an eClips letter, sent on a full moon, we had just passed the spring equinox. Suddenly, six months have passed, and the fall equinox is upon us, as well as a new moon.
When I first started writing eClips, my goal was to write a post for every quarter-phase of the moon — new, waxing, full, waning. Sometimes, I could make that schedule work. But most of the time, I couldn’t. I’d go weeks between posts, then months (as in this case). I knew no one was refreshing their inbox in anticipation of my next letter, but I still felt guilty that I wasn’t able to produce at the perfect level I’d imagined.
Though I write about cycles and seasonality, I struggle to honor my own. Over time, I’ve noticed that my writing, like my life, ebbs and flows, and always has. By anticipating and accepting that it always will, I can let that guilt go. I might still slip into envisioning what a “perfect” production schedule could look like, but then try to eclipse it with my reality. Sometimes, I don’t have the energy to write. Sometimes, I don’t have anything I want to say, or a few interviews fall through and I lose steam. When that’s the case, silence is golden. I don’t want to contribute to online oversaturation to satisfy my own ego. So, eClips is going to continue to be a little irregular — I hope each letter feels like a surprise, and a thoughtful one, because I’ve given it space to take shape without pushing myself past my limits.
This isn’t the only place where my fantasies and my reality battle. It’s my birthday season, the time I plan my upcoming year. Last year, I decided I’d do a sprint triathlon — three events, 33 weeks of training, at age 33. I wanted to get more movement into my life — more biking with friends, more swimming during Seattle’s short-but-sweet summers. I summoned a perfect vision then, too: Nothing would interrupt that perfect streak of training. I’d be more in shape than I’d ever been. Friends’ jaws would drop at my sudden strength and impressive athleticism, formed right under their noses.
Instead, my training was clumsy and irregular, interrupted by injuries and trips. For 33 weeks, I stopped and started and stopped again. By the time I began my final six weeks of training, I was down to the wire. I could feel myself getting stronger, but excruciatingly slowly. So I reoriented to my reality. I’m slow, but I wanted to “complete, not compete.” The race would just be a morning full of activities I love doing, that I could do at my own pace. I envisioned what it might feel like to finish last — but still finish. I could be proud of whatever happened, because I’d tried.
And in early September, with just a couple of weeks left of being 33, I crossed the finish line with the widest smile on my face. I surpassed every benchmark I’d set for myself, but better was the elation and empowerment I felt as I put one arm — pedal — foot in front of the other and moved slowly but surely toward my target. I didn’t need it to be perfect. I just needed it to be. I pushed myself, and prioritized movement in my day-to-day life, and that was enough.
I’m holding on to that lesson as I look ahead at my upcoming year, though I’ll likely need to keep learning it in a thousand different ways for the rest of my life. I’m always spiraling around the same thoughts and lessons, even as I grow and change. So now that I’m going into 34 (a number in the Fibonacci sequence), I’m thinking about spirals as a symbol and an experience, in nature and in life — the ebb and flow of non-linear healing and growth that repeatedly cycles back to past experiences and feelings while still expanding and deepening.
⬤ The Swimmer: A Short Film About the Power of Ritual: “You still have your problems, but they’re on the shore. They’re not with you.”
⬤ How to Get Out of Your Own Way and Unblock the “Spiritual Electricity” of Creative Flow: “You will circle through some of the issues over and over, each time at a different level. There is no such thing as being done with an artistic life. Frustrations and rewards exist at all levels on the path. Our aim here is to find the trail, establish our footing, and begin the climb.”
⬤ The Work That Reconnects: “The Spiral is fractal in nature. The sequence can repeat itself in ever new ways. Sometimes the whole sequence plays out within one particular stage. We come back to it again and again as a source of strength and fresh perspectives.”
⬤ World-Wide Labyrinth Locator: “Information about labyrinths you can visit, including their locations, pictures, and contact details, are accessible here, along with information about the many types of labyrinths found worldwide.”
⬤ The strange history of Utah’s ‘Spiral Jetty,’ which just turned 50: “Smithson fundamentally understood the dual relationship between construction and destruction — ‘sides of the same coin, and you couldn’t have one without the other.’”
⬤ The Samsara Mandala: “Whatever has the nature of arising has the nature of ceasing.”
🌀 Thanks for reading. One spiral of mine includes returning to this newsletter and trying to maintain its spirit even as I change it and release myself from publication expectations. And I’m no longer waiting for it to be perfect to enable paid subscriptions, if you have the means and interest (though all posts will continue to be public and free). Spotlight interviews will return with the next post! In the meantime, send me notes about what thoughts and experiences you’ve been spiraling around, photos of spirals you’ve found, or interview questions you’d like me to ask of the subscribers I spotlight. 🌀
Your life sounds like mine Amanda. The starting and stopping and needing to meet goals. I love the statement of celebrating finishing if finishing last! And spirals offer hope. Thank you.
Happy belated birthday, dear Mandar. And congratulations on meeting your goals. Big hugs!