Have you ever stood in a room filled with chattering, shimmering people? All flashing eyes and teeth, emanated heat and magnetic poles pulse throughout the space? In that crash of sensory waves have you thought to yourself, “where am I?”
I’m not talking about where Google Maps pins you as the app runs in the background, or, on the opposite spectrum, your spiritual path to Enlightenment. I’m talking about your tangible, physical self–in this moment; in this crowd. On what do you stand? Where are your bones?
We see the skeleton of many things this time of the year. The bare lines of trees and exposed raw ground, or the connective joinery that made up the past 365 days of who we were. In this seasonal sparseness, many begin building a structure for what’s to come. We may set intentions, saying them out loud to make them real, and to hold ourselves accountable. This is one of the few times where we collectively get humble about the notion of starting again. That perhaps this year we can be more present for ourselves and each other. We reconnect with our bones, the basal framing of who we are, to flesh out the hope for something more.