advent calendar 2021
Kind of like summer, December has its own rules. And both sets of rules are determined by the sun.
In the summer, we bask in the long days and warm temperatures. We look for activities that take us outside with other people, celebrating the ripe richness of the year. But in the winter, we retreat inside—literally and figuratively. The dark and cold tell us to slow down, burrow in, hibernate. It is a time to prepare.
According to Caroline Myss, we have celebrated the winter’s darkness “since the beginning of forever.” And the ritual of Advent reminds us that the light will return. At Advent, we participate “in this ritual of one candle after another increasing the light as we move into the darkest day of the year—the winter solstice. Once all the candles are lit, a transformation happens” (Myss). The light comes back to the world in the form of slowly lengthening days and, of course, Christ.
I was confirmed in the Catholic church as an adult and took the name Lucy as my confirmation name. St. Lucia/St. Lucy is the “bringer of light” and celebrates her saint’s day on December 13, the traditional date of the solstice and also the night, in Scandinavian tradition, on which the terrible demon, Lussi, visits homes to make sure the work being done in preparation for Christmas is on track.
Light needs the dark to be seen and dark readies us for light.
I have been working with ideas of seasonality and cycles—releasing in my physical space, my physical body, and in my professional life for a while now. And, in the dark of this year, I feel a slow illumination of what I want to receive.
So, if you are interested, I’m going to do that thing I always do in the darkness: I’m going to write through it. And for Advent, I will open up a dark door every day and hope to find a little light.
December 24: it's the last one
I get my family advent calendars each year—I often make them—this year I bought them. This is the first year I wrote one.
December 23: the rainbow direction
I already know—that’s not a real question—just a statement with flourish.
December 21: it’s beginning to look a lot like fuck this
Today is the day I leave the shit behind.
December 20: the cold went on forever
The little bear sits without impatience and without patience—watching the cold and feeling the light.
December 19: Wk51
I need the weekend as next week is a hard fall through 2021 in miniature.
December 18: I’m not crying, I’m eating spicy mustard
In previous years, we’d gone as a family of 4, but this year we are going as a family of 7 because used to be a family of 8.
December 17: the danger of a single ethnographic essay
While the question of diversity in higher ed is legitimate and crucial, it—the question itself—needs to be diversified.
December 16: it's probably just the wind
The wind stirs what’s at rest. It shudders the shutters.
December 15: I like you—I really do—but we need to set some boundaries
Fun fact: I don’t work in academic administration anymore because my supervisor called me in on a Friday afternoon, which I had requested off, to fire me.
December 14: is it here?
I’m not sure if the misery stems from being required (or at least expected) to spend hours and hours reading essays that clearly took minutes and minutes to write or if it is because in reviewing those essays I am confronted with all of my failures as a teacher—how could students have not understood the point I explained almost daily for 12-16 weeks?
December 13: the big picture made small
This year saw the world’s various communities—human and microbial—take significant risks to create a world that they wanted to live in—a world of insurrections, resignations, and variations.