Another year older...

Favorite images from the past year

Please Note: This is an image-rich post. It’s best read it in the Substack app or online.

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Dear Readers,

November has come and gone— so quickly. I’ve rarely had a month that was filled with so much activity. There were artist friends who came to Paris for an exhibition, a weekend in Normandie, volunteer work, and my wellness workshops at our community center are now in full swing. It’s all been good, but just a lot to take in, and I haven’t had time to write in a few weeks. Sorry about that.

November is also my birthday month. This year, I really felt it. Probably for the first time ever. “It” being the toll of time passing. It’s not that I feel old, but I certainly don’t feel young either. There’s this in-between thing, where the end seems closer than the beginning and the recognition that, in reality, it all goes so fast. I remember when my grandma was the age that I am now. Of course, I was young, but to me, at 56 she seemed old. Not feeble or senile or diminished, but just old. The years left traces, as they tend to do. We all become patina-ed with time. Or maybe ripened is another word for it, though ripeness evokes a certain notion of fullness and abundance. There are days when this body doesn’t feel so abundant. There are days when it feels stiff, dry, brittle, and on the verge of… shriveling. Oh, the days of estrogen and supple-ness! I don’t know what menopause was or is like for those of you who’ve gone through it, but it’s not been easy for me. Neither was having periods, for that matter. But the lack of estrogen is something so profound. We literally feel it in our bones. I know there are ways to replace it, but for someone who had endometriosis, estrogen therapy post-menopause is not recommended.

So, moving forward, I try to focus on acceptance of what I can’t change and to see it all as a sort of… adventure. Who knows what awaits us? Though the end feels closer than the beginning, I hold onto the belief that there’s still plenty of time to experience and savor the richness of this human experience. Maybe that sense of “plenty” or fullness is another way of looking at abundance?

In honor of this new year of life, I went through the photos I took since last November and selected some favorites to share with you. As I look at them, the word that comes back to me is gratitude. Everyone, every place, everything I love is represented here in some way, either directly or tangentially. I realize how fortunate I am that this is the life I live. Some of the gifts of growing older, as I see them, are an increased sense of satisfaction; an appreciation of contentment, of slowness, of simplicity; an increased ability to just notice, to suspend judgement, to just be; an ability to co-create the reality I wish to live in (on a small scale) by choosing how I see and where I place my attention. In saying these things, I’m not negating the external realities of this complicated, wounded world. In photographic terms, one could say that I’m focusing in close and using a wide aperture setting, softly blurring the edges of what lies beyond my control. To some extent all artists rewrite or remake the world in a way that suits them. We offer another way of looking at things. Sometimes, blur is a blessing.

Thanks for reading and for having been with me this past year.

I’m sending you light and love across the sea and through the darkness.

Until next time,

Anne

P.S. The image of the chairs in the empty church is a nod to søren k. harbel, whose recent post about chairs in Parisian parks is simply delightful.