North Stars and Solstices

Life's Guiding Lights

Press “play” above to hear me narrate this post with commentary :)

Off we get —

Solstice is a reflective time for me. Thursday, December 21 into 22 is the Winter Solstice. The darkest night of the year (check out the book Wintering by

Katherine May

for a great explanation on the rituals around Solstice). Considering the passage of time between seasons, the cycles between light and dark, warm and cold, on and off, life and death.

The Winter Solstice in particular is a trail marker on my life trail that reminds me of the life and death of my North Star Nurse. I’ve thought about her life so much over the last few years that it’s always hard to know where to start. I think calling her my “North Star” should say all you need to know about her. She was the epitome of nursing, parenting, partnership, and friendship. Her death left the deepest gap in my heart, and I’ve spent much of the last two years navigating around, into, and through that pit and the intermittent despair I find in there. It’s part of it, missing someone. I’m sharing this with you because — well, it’s not always light and glittery and fun and vacation-mode.

Today, I’m sitting with my grief.

What does my grief look like?

It looks different all the time, depending on the time of year, mood, season, etc. But it’s always there, like a seasoning I may just keep on the shelf, or over-use till it destroys the meal. Today my grief is quiet. Tearful. Lonely. It is distracted, tangential, and meandering. My grief is frustrated. I get frustrated with wasted time, and impatient that the world hasn’t suddenly gotten significantly better in spite if my/our best efforts. Again, in some ways, it has. It’s mostly good. I can sometimes decide how much to cling to my grief or frustration, and when to put it back on the shelf. Still there, but not in-use.

People from religious backgrounds, like Christians, use phrases like “what would Jesus do/WWJD” when pondering next steps. From what I’ve heard, Jesus sounds like he was a pretty good dude. That’s just not the language I use. Instead, I might think to myself “What Would My North Star Do"/WWMNSD” — which is kind of a mouthful, but you probably catch my meaning.

I think about her a lot. What would she do if she were here, looking at this problem, if we talked about this?

My North Star understood humans and their behavior. She understood the broken systems we are trying to function within. She knew that it all could be better, and she made it so one human at a time.

My hope is to scale up her work.

I’ve spent much of this past year feeling like I’m on the right path. That’s radical. To watch myself, feeling like I’m on the right path, right on time… Radical.

I’ve been watching a community form at my town’s Farmer’s Market as well as planting seeds of community for caregivers with A Bedside Campfire. Unfolding. Becoming. I’ve had a few projects at work that feel impactful — good work — and have continued to breathe through significant delays that would otherwise have seen me throw in the towel. I’ve stayed patient when a class I was taking went differently than I expected. I’ve continued to learn and grow. My thoughts, intentions, actions, expectations, conversations, connections… Learn, grow…

I don’t always know what to do. And in those moments, when fools might rush in, I pause. I breathe. I quiet myself. I write. I wait. I listen.

Sometimes, the universe responds with a nudge in the right direction (serendipity, synchronicity, etc.). An answer.

Others, I have to make a conscious choice on how to proceed. Sometimes my response time is delayed. I have to sit quietly. Hibernate. It’s wintering — storing up energy, figuring out what direction to grow.

What am I cultivating?

One of the ways I process all of this noodling, spinning, worrying, pondering, grief, joy, and the dance between it all, is in lighting a fire. The ritual of lighting a fire, to be more precise. It’s medicine for me. With the approaching Winter Solstice, I’ve been bundling a Yule Log, or a Solstice Log, or really just a log… I’ve been bundling it with hopes for the future, intentions, wishes, as well as things I’m letting go, patterns/behaviors, mindsets I want to cultivate, and so on.

The log is whatever I want and need it to be. It feels poetic. Genuine. Loving. Intentional. And it’s entirely in the service of my self. Because as I take care of this part of me that needs a fire — to burn, warm, light, release, let-go — I channel my energy in the direction of growth, I release the burden and weight of what I surrender (like a handful of wildflower seeds and being frozen in indecision and expectations), and I set intentions for the path forward. It’s reflective. Cathartic. And it’s mine.

Now that I’ve shared it with you, it can be yours, too.

The sky was smiling

It doesn’t have to be this big preparation or ceremony. It can be any fire.

The next time you light a fire: a candle, an incense, a birch log, a match, a stove — consider what you bring to that space. Your spark. Warmth. Light. Air. Protection from the wind. What stifles you, and what lifts you up? If the flames climb too high, let it cool off. If the fire dies down, bring fuel, or let it burn out. What do you need more of in your life? Less? The same? What do you hope for? Wish for? What do you hope to manifest?

When we watch our popcorn thoughts become words, words become actions, in art and conversation and music and beauty in the world…

Then, we see the path unfold and we learn how to proceed. What to seek out — a mentor, light, solitude. Or, maybe you won’t get anything out of it and you light a fire with no woo-woo whatsoever.

At the very least, we’ve got a little more warmth and light in our day.

Take good care, and have a good solstice, ya’ll.

Love,

Jessie