A New Year’s Resolution: The Year of Grace and Wild Geese
/During college, one of my dearest friends and I had a running joke every new year: this will be the year of grace. This year, we will give ourselves the grace we deserve. We will allow ourselves to rest, to recover, and to reflect. Regardless of successes or failures, we will move through without judgement and allow ourselves to be simple, messy humans! However, this resolution was often lost, especially when mid-terms, final exams, and end-of-year projects were due. Inevitably, we got swept up in the storm of academia that reduced students to woozy, grade-crazed husks. Occasionally, my friend and I would catch each other in the whirlwind and remind one another that “this is the year of grace.”
Living at the Dunes has been no different: I am reminded of my failures, of my mistakes I made during programs — perhaps that one student that I didn’t quite reach, or who didn’t have an amazing time. I often found myself in exhausting spirals of anxiety, wishing I could have done more — to reach that one kid, to give an inspiring, environmental message, to have a strong program… My own expectations caused rocks to form in my gut and tangles of anxiety to grow in my throat. I felt so much internal pressure. I wanted so badly for things, for myself, to just be better.
One day before a support shift, I was feeling particularly lost and distraught. I had woken up that morning not feeling quite myself. I thought that perhaps reading some poems of hope would make me feel a bit better, a bit more human. I picked up “Dreams” by Mary Oliver, a thin, inconspicuous paperback of a book. I started to thumb through it. I came across “Wild Geese,” a poem that had been read to me two years prior. I hadn’t felt much when I first heard the poem, but now, upon reading the opening line, tears came to my eyes. I’m not the kind of person to cry at movies, or books, or even when the dog dies in TV shows, but something settled in my heart when I read Mary Oliver’s words.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
A weight lifted off my shoulders, the constriction around my lungs loosened, and I could finally breathe: I did not have to be good. I did not have to wail and repent. I could freely walk on my own two feet and gain confidence with each step. I had forgotten that this is the year of grace. I had forgotten how to allow myself to live and be human, in all my imperfect ways. Whatever steps I take now are good, not necessarily for the end result, but because I made the effort to take them.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
This is the grace that you, I, we deserve. We are bound to make mistakes, to feel small, and to suffer. But all we can ask from ourselves is to love what we love; to be exactly what we are. Trust that there will be others who will share our burdens. At the Dunes, I have found people here who accept me, who give me grace enough that I can give it to myself. I can let my soft animal self love what it loves without fear of being good. Even on the worst days, clear pebbles of rain move across the landscape. The roll of thunder washes through the sky.
I know I will continue to try and continue to fail at giving myself grace throughout the year. I am constantly reminded of my shortcomings and yet I’m learning how to use setbacks as opportunities. I am only doing the best I can at the moment.
This is my hope for anyone who is reading this: that you will give yourself grace to be human. You will suffer, stumble, and learn from mistakes while the world moves on. The sun and moon will take their course, and the wild geese will fly home. And you, and I – we – however lonely or overwhelmed, are invited to take part in this harsh and exciting life. We are meant to take our place in the family of things!
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
PICTURE AND POEM CREDITS: gwenglish.org/poem-of-the-day-mary-olivers-wild-geese
Ana Yoder, 1st Year Environmental Education Fellow
