It is that time of the year. Tall and lit Christmas trees. People taking their loved ones’ pics. You notice someone else in the gift card aisle, undecided just like you are, about which card to pick. There are sugary cookies, and merry people disclosing vacations plans. There are people who are going through tough time, but still trying to be jolly and bright to fit in a world that seems like a big stage where we are the versions of who we are supposed to be. Because.
It is that time of the year.
I feel nostalgic during last a few days of December. It’s normally a time to revisit my year to jot down a few learnings and hopes. This time it’s not only about year end, but also an end of the decade. I remember my friend sending a eight year old Facebook memory last week, and that made me think how much time we all must have invested/wasted in social media this decade, how many faces of same people we saw and how complicated those experiences were.
My decade started with breaking my leg. That’s one wish I never make for anyone. No. Don’t break a leg. It’s truly painful. Ten years later, that broken leg brought me a millions of memories- mostly the good ones, in which I walked miles, stretched muscles, offered good food to those muscle memories, watched sunsets, and started the hobby of photography with a camera that was bought actually for the husband. All because I was in pain. And the only way to escape the darkness of pain is to open all the windows of your life. Remember that line by Rumi?
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you. ~
This decade also taught me another life lesson. That actions speak louder than words. I saved only good actions, not the words. My brain remembers the tiniest acts of kindness and the bigger ones- someone holding the door when I was on crutches, someone bringing food when I was unwell and alone, someone sending me a book review because I wanted to read a good book, someone reminding me to write because I am good at it and needed to be told, there are so many. This is my one hope for my future self- that I walk my talk more often, that I act, and do, and create, and make, and build, and save, and age that way.
Was this decade hard? Oh yes. I repaired my wounds. I grew my branches, and a tall root. I became a mother. And I forgot the word sleep since then. I became this over-active version of myself, reading a book while making coffee, writing while running with a glass of milk – always doing multiple things. Things that are more important, because time doesn’t stop for me anymore.
I made good achievements, learned new things, read way too many biographies, and successfully changed so many strangers to my friends. All in ten good years. But becoming a mother tops all. It’s not because traditionally women are supposed to do that. It’s not because if a woman does not become a mother, then she is not eligible for Woman of the year/decade/lifetime trophy. It’s because I saw my strength during those moments of creating a life, and then giving her all the love that I could. Being able to give is a strength. Thus motherhood, to me, is a strength. They say, it takes a village to raise a kid. Most of the times, this decade, I was that village. And I have saved that village in a gift box- a gift from this decade to cherish.