A Season of Light

In my part of the world, we're headed toward the darkest days of winter. This season in particular I'm noticing the importance light holds for me. The word light has been ubiquitous these past few weeks. I keep hearing it mentioned in a variety of settings, in what seems like more instances than ever before.

This "sudden" frequency of something that has, in reality, been a commonplace occurrence all along is called the frequency illusion (or the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, if you want to read more about it).

Maybe I never noticed the frequent mentioning of the element of light because I hadn't felt such a need for it in my life. Now I feel that need, and I've grown more aware of hearing and reading the word. I'm more attuned to the recurrences.

Or it could also be that others are yearning for more light in their lives as well. And perhaps we really are all discussing it more often because together we're seeking that which reaches deep into our souls and spreads far across our communities.

I've been reading a book by Louise Erdrich called The Mighty Red. One sentence gave me pause:

"The hour just before dawn, when everything was suspended in expectancy of light." —page 270, emphasis mine

The other day, my friend and I were lamenting the shortened and darker days. We commented on our decreased mood and energy, how difficult it is to stay up till a decent bedtime hour. She and I agreed we count the minutes till it seems appropriate enough to call it quits for the day in anticipation of the next day's light.

The expectancy of light is real. The light nourishes.

When I think of light in my life, I consider two types: the visible lights that illuminate the space around, such as those that shine down from the sky or that cast a soft glow from fixtures. And the lights that aren't as discernible, the lights that shine from person to person when we offer unconditional positivity and goodness.

Both types offer warmth, security, and comfort in these dark days.

In a recent newsletter by Austin Kleon, he quotes Edith Wharton's poem, "Vesalius in Zante":

"There are two ways of spreading light; to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it."

Kleon writes:

"When I have my own light to shine, I shine it, and when I can't muster my own light, I try to reflect the light of others, or shine a light on others doing the good work."

Countless people spread goodness in the world, and I'm grateful for them.

Recently, I was in yoga class when our teacher commented on how much she appreciates the light we each bring into the space . . . each of us offers something unique that contributes to and combines with the whole. This collective light provides more goodness for us to reflect.

Sometimes, though, all we're able to offer is to shine light on another's efforts. And that's okay. Offer it. Our attempts might feel small, but I think all light provides immediate, far-reaching results.

Maybe it comes with age, maybe I'm finally growing up, but I'm noticing the offers of light more often.

Here's to a light-filled season.

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