Hi friend,
Happy New Year! I’m writing to you from the Caribbean, where my husband Jon and I took our family for the holidays. Months ago, we decided our Christmas gift would be to treat everyone to a special trip—though to be honest, scheduling something that far out filled me with anxiety. Healthwise I’m mired in uncertainty; I don’t know how I’m going to feel in an hour, much less a month, so it’s hard to block out those days on my calendar and book the tickets—to really commit. When you learn you have cancer for the third time, it’s easy to feel afraid of the future and all the unknowns, of everything that could go wrong. I’m afraid of having to cancel plans—not only the energy it takes to undo things, but also the emotional let-down.
But as I’ve written in the newsletter this year, I’ve been trying to shift from fearing the unknown and instead opening myself up to the magic of the unknown—so we went ahead and booked it.
Right up until we left, I wasn’t sure it would come to pass. I had a bout with norovirus and an infection followed by five days of chemo, and I wasn’t sure I could travel, and even if I could, if I’d able to enjoy myself. But daring to come here anyway has allowed for moments of pure magic—like on our first day here, when we went on an excursion to a desert island. That morning, we crossed the most beautiful turquoise waters I’ve ever seen and arrived two hours later at an island covered in low trees with a small sandy beach, unpopulated by humans, populated instead mainly by iguanas and little birds.
What came next was one of the most magical experiences of my life. As we pulled toward the beach, the guide asked me, “See that little bird?” I said yes, and he handed me a strawberry, then directed me to the bow. “Stand still,” he said, and I did—and for the next few minutes, I was motionless.
Then suddenly I felt the softest little brush, and I looked down to see that a tiny bird with dark grey wings, white throat, and yellow belly had alighted on my fingertips. It was a bananaquit. We all held our collective breath as it pecked at the strawberry, tweeted a bit, and cocked its head quizzically. Half a minute later, as quickly as it had appeared, the bird was gone.
Not long after, I began to feel unwell. While everyone swam and fished and ate, I curled up on one of the bench seats and tried to sleep. But that moment of magic was such a buoy. It reminded me that life is all flow all the time, and I find comfort in that flux. Last week was my lowest week of the whole year, and this week, I somehow found myself completely transported in every sense. Next week may be another low one, as I resume chemo. But I find comfort in knowing that there’s magic—even if it’s fleeting—at every turn.
When the ceiling caves in, it’s easy to feel hopeless. When we read the news and see so much suffering—all our manmade atrocities, our wars and our politics, our fears and our fury—it’s temping to descend into despair. But the truth is, we live in a beautiful world, full of joys big and small, full of moments of magic. And it’s important to turn our eyes to those moments of magic, and even to cultivate them—not as a head-in-the-sand moment, not as escapism, but as a necessary reminder that suffering isn’t all there is. There is goodness and kindness and joy and light. There is magic—the tiny miracle of a delicate wisp of a bird nibbling on a strawberry in your palm.
And that’s the theme of our fifth annual New Year’s Journaling Challenge: a celebration and cultivation of magic, the magic within us, the magic around us, the magic we have yet to uncover. The daily prompts are curated from the very best of the Hatch, our monthly creative gatherings for paid subscribers. Each day between now and January 7, I’ll send out an email with a video from the brilliant writers and Isolation Journals community stewards, Carmen Radley and Holly Huitt, sharing a short reading, reflection, and prompt. (We’ll also add a link to each daily post at the bottom of this email for easy reference.)
You’ll find the video for Day 1 below. It’s inspired by a poem called “Belief in Magic,” by Dean Young—a poem about wonder and mystery and the powerful magic of the human mind. May it help you combat the temptation to descend into darkness. May it remind you that our world is full of beauty—and magic too.
Sending love and warmest wishes for a magical new year,
Suleika
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