Burn After Reading
Internal Combustion / Tub-deprived
First: To all of you who have been reading my work during the past eight months, best wishes for an inspired, healthy and productive New Year. It’s wonderful to know that my posts are finding their way into your lives. And to my paid subscribers — whose generous support makes these posts possible in the first place — I offer you the words spoken by Prince Faisal (Alec Guinness) to T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) at the conclusion of Lawrence of Arabia: “What I owe you is beyond evaluation.” (Not literally true, I realize, but heartfelt nonetheless.)
For the past 30 years, I’ve spent the New Year holiday with the same core group of close friends. Back in 1995 there were about 10 of us. We have gained some and lost some, but seem to have settled at a reliable cohort of 14. For many of those years, our default destination was the gorgeous Point Reyes National Seashore, with its variety of hiking trails and abundant wildlife (bobcats, whales, coyotes, hawks, and the elusive mountain lion). We’d rent a house with a big kitchen, lots of bedrooms (and preferably a hot tub), check in on the 29th of December, and return home on January 2nd.
The proximity of great hiking has always been at the core of our plans. This year we gathered in Sedona, Arizona, where one of the couples in our cadre has a home overlooking the towering limestone and sandstone formations of that eroded landscape. Sedona is also known for its healing powers, with no less than eight geological and spiritual vortexes: places described on the Visit Sedona website as “swirling centers of energy that are conducive to healing, meditation and self-exploration... Places where the earth seems especially alive with energy.”
New Year celebrations everywhere have their traditions. Ours is no exception. The theme of our annual ritual is usually twofold. After dinner we go around the table and share some of the highlights of the old year. We then move to the fireplace. Squares of paper are passed around. Privately, each of us lists the self-limitations, maladies and negative forces we wish to be rid of in the coming year; things like “writers’ block,” “Parkinson’s” or “the patriarchy.” We then fold up our papers, and toss them into the fire. Away they go. Right?
This year – the transition from 2024 to 2025 – was different.
After dinner on December 31st, as our plates were being cleared, we started as usual by taking turns recalling what had inspired us during 2024 (for me, in part, it was these Substack posts) and resolving what we hoped to bring into our lives. What practices, fresh approaches and new friends might we cultivate in 2025? We acknowledged that we will be there to support each other, and hold each other’s aspirations in mind.
Then it was time for my favorite part: burning up the negative forces. But before we could sharpen our pencils, one of the women in our group – the eldest, and by many measures the wisest – shook her head. The need for that particular ritual, she suggested, has passed.
What she had noticed this year, she said, was that “as we took our turns, almost no one spoke about the personal shortcomings or aspirations or weight loss resolutions that were so individually concentrated upon in years past ... We realized that our purpose now lay outside ourselves. The path forward is to be in service to others, to be helpful, compassionate and seek the root cause of issues in order to enable change. The human condition is both individual and social. To understand that allows us to be kind to others AND to ourselves.”
And that is exactly the sentiment I wish to reflect, two weeks from Inauguration Day. We know ourselves, and we know what we are up against. Ceremonial gestures – like burning a piece of paper with Trump’s name on it – will get us nowhere. We also know what is required during the months ahead. Yes, going to the gym and calling our mothers more often are always good ideas. But it is absolutely critical that we join forces, and face the dark tides of anger and selfishness with a collective spirit of kindness and generosity. That, and a real commitment to defending those most at risk.
Darkness may be threatening. But as singer/songwriter Monica Pascal reminds us: “You Can’t Kill Light.”
As I said earlier, long and spectacular hikes have always been the core of our New Year tradition. Whether in Point Reyes, Sedona, Santa Fe or Joshua Tree, every day is spent on the trails, with our energized group coming back in the late afternoon to clean up and prepare dinner. The hikes are a bonding experience, and where most of our long conversations take place.
The thing is, I can’t hike anymore. Not really. I lace up my boots, grab my walking pole, and set off with the best intentions – but after a mile, two at best, my left leg begins to drag. My right hip and lower back stiffen. I run the risk of tripping over a buried rock, or catching my foot on an overhanging step. A friend or two from the group always hangs back and walks with me, volunteering (I hope) for “Jeff patrol.”
This year I did good, managing a few miles every day. One morning my host stayed behind with me, and we tooled around on his eBikes. But there is no question that (my neurologist’s assessment to the contrary notwithstanding) my Parkinson’s has progressed during the previous year. And the medication I’m taking, as expected, wears off more quickly. My “on” hours seem to be morning through late afternoon. By 4 or 5 p.m., walking and other gross motor coordination is more difficult. Though I longed to watch the Arizona sunset through the comforting steam of the hot tub, the process of de-shoeing, undressing, climbing into the tub, climbing out into the cold air, drying off and getting my clothes back on was a commitment. I managed it only once.
But whenever I start to hear that minor chord of self-pity, I remind myself: I’m incredibly lucky. I imagine facing up to Parkinson’s as a laborer in a friendless city or, worse, in a beleaguered place like Ukraine, Gaza, Syria or Sudan. People do. And though I’m a little uneasy about what 2025 may bring (on so many levels), I’ll continue to recite the group mantra that one of our New Years celebrants shared at the end of 2023, and holds just as true today: *
* I like it so much I had it made into bumper stickers.
Happy New Year, friends.
Jeffji, Your NY post left me in awe and opened my heart. You are so inspiring to share your P -journey so openly, and you continue to have such an artistic way with words. I liove reading your posts … and I love you. xo, Judy
Thanks for this wonderful post, Jeff. We feel some of your pain and also appreciate and honor your perspective. Thanks for sharing these windows into your journey and helping to illuminate ours as well