Upright

And glad to be here.

Solstice “hit different” this year. In the past, I’ve acknowledged it, enjoyed its existence, considered it more of an end of year celebration than Christmas (even though I enjoy our secular Christmas a lot), but 2025 feels like the first Solstice I’ve actually experienced.

There was no conscious decision, but as the light hours got shorter, so did our days. We go to bed early anyway by most people’s standards, but at the bottom of the year we’ve been turning in at 8pm, waking at 5-6am and taking the day’s start very slowly.

Of an evening we eat early - again, a habit we hold to all year round - and then it’s been curtains drawn, fire lit, a lamp on low setting, a blanket if needed (our home is very, very old and not made of straight lines and sealed spaces) and we’re settled in for a couple of hours escapism into stories; usually on the television but stories all the same.

We’d been shaking our heads at this. Complaining about old we’re getting; how tiiiiiired we are, and how unproductive our evenings seem to be. It was only yesterday that it occurred to me that actually, we’re doing winter in NE Europe pretty well. Our 20/21 Century conditioning may tell us we’re supposed to be milking every hour for action, production and “results”, but our human bodies want warmth, food, entertainment, red light, close company, and rest. I only hope it’s been an investment in ourselves.

Right now, it’s hard to tell. The “pause of the sun” at Solstice had me stop also. It went on for some days and honestly, I’m still one foot in it. That sneaky little blighter, Grief got me in the back of the knees on Christmas morning. She’s busy around the holidays, right? Before I’d managed to expand around that feeling, world events kicked off again and something changed in me. I’m not trying to be dramatic, I genuinely feel like a line was crossed, a portal was walked through, an era ended - there’s all sorts of analogies to be used. Whichever one I go with, the upshot is that I changed and I can’t change back. The line was swept, the portal was closed, the era is done.

I had words for 2026 before this event (because it has been An Event), but I need to change them. I think now I’m going with Disillusion and Grief. Yep, I’m owning them. I’m welcoming them in. These sisters are grown-ups. Plain-talking, wise and fascinating. They come bearing gifts I never thought I’d receive but as yet we speak different languages. It’s a learning curve that will probably, hopefully, continue to curve forever.

While I pay attention to them and our communication, I temporarily have less energy for other things. 2025-Me had capital P Plans. So do I, but they’re different. Smaller, more precious, even the ones about how I spend my time online. Can we talk social media..?

I want my Instagram back. Our Instagram. Remember that? I understand and respect that for a lot of people, it’s been a brilliant shop window for their businesses. And as long as I’ve chosen to walk past that window, I’ll happily do so on the daily. I’m even open to some suggestions of other people to follow. Some. Not hundreds. Relentlessly. Give me peace. No, the Instagram I want back is the one where the grid came first. I have been - and will probably continue to be, tbh - a serial (ab)user of Stories but I do wish I could turn them off and just have the grid again. With pictures and daily thoughts or updates from my friends and online acquaintances; people whose work I admire; places I’d like to visit. There are new platforms trying to recreate that but unless they can magically lift all my people over there too, I’m not going. I know how ridiculous that is but post-portal me is even more unapologetic than the old version. Sorry not sorry.

You’ll’ve seen news stories about the farmers who refused to sell. While all their neighbours sold up and moved to be nearer the kids, these guys give all offers a hard nope and vow to stay on their land. Fast forward a few months and the drone shot shows an old stone farmhouse, some fields, livestock and crops (y’know…just the stuff of Life, no biggie) surrounded by roads and housing blocks.

That’s going to be me on my Instagram grid. Old skool. Just for a bit, to see how it feels. If you’re there, keep an eye open, drop by, say hello. If you’re also doing a peaceful protest and staying put, I’ll look out for your chimney smoke and make sure we’re in touch.

Joking aside, the small stuff is all I can do right now. You’ve probably been here, because you are also human, alive and aware. When you’re having All The Feelings All The Time but you don’t want to just crash out and escape, I think the only way is to keep the processing small and careful.

While looking for some wisdom that could help me, I was - and continue to be - grateful to Past-Me for her habit of buying books and stashing them for later, like an educated squirrel with a bank card and access to Hazelnut Prime. On my shelf I rediscovered Francis Weller’s The Wild Edge of Sorrow. Recognising this masterpiece to be just what I need, I went looking for the man himself on a podcast. I found him on [the highly recommended] How to Survive the End of the World (hosted by Autumn Brown and adrienne maree brown). On being asked, during his introduction, how he was feeling, Francis replied, “I am upright, and I’m glad to be here.”

Me too, I thought. Me too. And took a small step forward.