Drop the Ball

Dimmed lights from my grandmother’s small Christmas tree. The crunch of Snyder’s pretzel sticks between my teeth. Muted screams emitting from the voices of pedestrians packed into Times Square through the television, juxtaposed by our family’s quiet round of Apples to Apples on the large floral rug. These were the sensory indicators of New Year’s Eve growing up, when my three-generation trio—my mother, grandmother, and me—would come together, forgo dinner for snacks, and spend the night splitting our attention between board games and the four stations broadcasting live from New York City. After the ball drop signaled the East Coast New Year and my family went to bed, I would spend the last two hours until Arizona’s New Year alone in my room, dreaming up the possibilities of new beginnings from underneath the silk comforter in my grandmother’s guest bedroom.

I have the fondest memory of those times, for they came to an end when my grandmother passed away right before I went to college. This naturally opened the door for me to spend New Year’s Eve in other ways, with other family and friends, playing other games and eating other foods. But since the end of my childhood era, one component of my ever-changing New Year’s Eve has remained the same: making the resolution to be better than I was last year.

While the details of what this betterment entails has shifted over time, it has become the metaphorical Times Square ball drop of my adult life. And truthfully, I’ve benefited greatly from this mindset, for I genuinely feel like each year gets better and better through my sheer awareness and belief in and of myself. But I’ve also found that there is an unexpected result when the flip side of this venture goes unexamined: the “better” I become, the “lesser” everyone else appears.

I could lie and say this is largely subconscious, that as I’ve created a more fulfilling life for myself, I’ve felt naturally inclined to share it with others. But instead, I’ve often noticed myself feeling afraid to engage with the world, afraid to engage with people who might “drag me down” or knock me off track back toward old patterns.

And, for a time, I think I needed to do this. I think my new habits and perspectives were so new, so fragile, that I needed to cocoon them in the depths of my being before braving the new world with them intact. Now, though, I’ve reached a point where running away from the world by continuously climbing a latter to escape it isn’t bettering myself anymore. In fact, it’s become exhausting trying to make sure I don’t make The One Mistake that will prove to me that all the work I’ve done has been for nothing. So, this year, I’ve put a new twist on my betterment resolution: brave the world—with radical grace.

So, I don’t mean “brave the world” by using sheer force, knocking down anyone or anything that gets in my way. And, I don’t mean retreating back to old patterns for the sake of “keeping a [false] semblance of peace” in the name of grace. What I mean is making the conscious choice to wade into the world with an open mind and open heart, always open to the possibility of a new start, not holding myself or others to the standard of a scene from work of art that lacks the depth of genuine humanity. Because, at the end of the day, I can take care of myself, do all the self-improvement things, and be on top of my physical and emotional health, but if I can’t do that without fearing my eventual demise and therefore relegating “the other” as some sort of inferior being, there’s still more work to do. And the beautiful thing about this type of work, braving the world with radical grace, is that it’s the type of work that is done through the deep rest of loosening my grip. (Can you feel it the knot in your core untwist as I say it?)

So, for this new year, my goal is not to strengthen my abdominal wall, improve my posture, or keep a regular meal schedule—though all of those things would be nice, they mean nothing without my ability to metabolize them in the world while holding grace for others to be perfectly imperfect, just like me. My goal for this year, instead, is to dismantle my own hyper-vigilance, free myself and others from my boxes, and rest in the sweet salve of forgiveness and kindness.

And, you know what the most beautiful thing is? If I don’t keep it, if I slip back into old habits of hiding and judgment, all I need to do is drop back into the love in my own heart, rediscovering the courage and grace that has lived there from the start.

(Three-two-one: you can come out of your shell and into the sun, embracing grace, rest, and radical love.)