The year of questions and answers
On birthdays, burdens, and being frightened
Back in high school, I was assigned to read Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Unfortunately, I recall little of that experience. Perhaps it was during a year when I was juggling multiple AP classes and only had time to skim the text sufficient enough to complete quizzes with adequate scores.
This past week I was scrolling through an Etsy account for a bookish artist I discovered on Instagram by the name of Jenny Williams (Carrot Top Paper Shop). As I was admiring nearly every sticker, postcard, and print, particularly the Anne of Green Gables and Little Women pieces, I noticed an art print with a quote from the aforementioned high school assigned text:
"There are years that ask questions and years that answer"
I cannot recall reading this line before seeing it as an art print. I do not remember any discussions about this text at all from class. But even if I had, I do not think my high school self would have realized how poignant this line truly is.
The questions I faced as a teen while reading Hurston’s novel were akin to what many teens wonder. Will I pass that chemistry exam tomorrow? Will I get that part in the play? Does he like me back? The day-to-day concerns I faced were, like the concerns of teens in nearly any high school, seemingly unimportant but weighed heavily on my mind. As a teen, you are not aware of what your future concerns will be, or how much heavier they will rest on your mind and your heart. Or how these questions may take up years of your life.
As I have grown older with each passing year, I realized the questions I have may be akin to what other 20-somethings wonder, yet are still deeply personalized to my soul.
This past week (the week of November 18th when I initially drafted this newsletter) was my 27th birthday. To say my life looks different than what I thought it would look like at this point would be an understatement. That is not because it looks worse than I expected, or better. Just different. Perhaps that is just another way to say it is a mix of both better and worse.
In my grand tradition of elaborate themed birthdays I started as a 25 year-old (a tradition that has made birthdays far more enjoyable during a decade where the birthday blues have made their presence known and wreaked havoc on my psyche), I knew for close to two years that I wanted to have a “Charlotte Lucas” party for my 27th birthday. Specifically the Claudie Blakley portrayal from the 2005 masterpiece that is Pride & Prejudice. But for those who have never seen this adaptation, you may wonder why I would choose this extremely specific theme for this specific birthday. For the rest of you it is obvious.
While twisting on a swing while livestock moves around her home’s property, Elizabeth Bennet is visited by her best friend, Charlotte Lucas, who has come to let Lizzie know that she is engaged to Mr. Collins. Now, for those of us who have watched this adaptation dozens of times, and have read its source material cover to cover, we can all relate to Lizzie’s horror at the idea that our best friend would settle for someone beneath their own excellence and intelligence. In other words, someone who does not compliment all of what we know that makes our friends spectacular. But for Lizzie it is not just the idea that Charlotte would consider this marriage, it is the reality that she has accepted this marriage.
Lizzie, who has previously rejected a proposal by the same Mr. Collins, cannot hide her disapproval of the match. After Lizzie tries to respond to (or rather retort) Charlotte’s justifications about how, “Not all of us can afford to be romantic,” Charlotte finds herself having to interrupt Lizzie sternly, proclaiming, “I’m 27 years-old. I have no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents. And I’m frightened. So don’t you judge me Lizzie. Don’t you dare judge me.”
For other bookish “Zillenials”, this statement has been something of a cathartic rallying cry to other late 20-somethings who have had to spend countless family gatherings or reunions verbally tip-toeing around how their current conditions have them feeling, from squandered romantic interests to student loans and economic uncertainty. And I am one of the many part of this rally.
My 26th year (my Meredith Blake age that I kicked off exactly one year ago) has been neither a year of questions nor a year of answers, to borrow from Zora Neale Hurston. It has been a fine balance of both. Between 2023 and now I have gone through a multiplicity of expectations, experiences, and changes that have changed me in surprisingly rapid ways.
In the months leading up to my 26th birthday, I expected that I would be married, or at least engaged by the time my 27th birthday arrived. These expectations were not some arbitrary deadline I settled on for myself, there had been specific and now painful reasons that supported this. I imagined that I would perhaps have moved, whether that be cities or states, potentially leading me to take a different direction in my career. I imagined so many things, things that feel very distant now. Things that are still questions as I enter my new year.
My 26th year was a year where I traversed new ground, both literally and metaphorically, as I was pointed to a new path that I had not planned.
My 26th year was the year where I truly accepted my need for help, and leaned into the things that I needed to to find it. I spent many weeks speaking with a therapist who helped me realize that I was not responsible for the pain I had incurred from the year prior (as well as years prior). She helped me accept that people I had trusted and defended had done things that were not in my best interest, and ultimately at the expense of my confidence, peace, and sense of self, all to maintain certain images and narratives. She helped me realize that healing is not linear, as much as I hoped I could be the exception. She helped me brace for the inevitability that my sadness may arrive as an unannounced and unwelcome guest, even if I tell myself that I can wallow for the next 30 minutes, or hour, or whatnot, it may still feel unwelcome.
It was also the year where I sought out answers for medical questions that have caused me frustration and exhaustion. And while those questions are still largely unanswered, and I still feel at odds with my mind and body, I know that I am not stagnant in the journey to wellness. Yet between and during those unwelcomed visits of either exhaustion, sickness, or depression, I have managed to experience one of the most transformational years to date.
I was able to see a stage adaptation of The Winter’s Tale, my favorite work of William Shakespeare, and witness a seldom-told story of human error, betrayal, love, and forgiveness. It is a story I am always enveloped by, and all the while feel so distant from it. If only I could be more like Hermione, I wonder most days. I also got to share this personally historic moment with my parents, who agreed to the long drive to Cedar City on a whim to bring me the joy that only live Shakespeare can provide. I realized that my parents are the greatest friends God could have placed me with in my mortal journey (and who make sure to let me know that, unlike Charlotte Lucas, I am not a burden to them).
I said a temporary (though who knows how long temporary is) farewell to one of my best friends through my college years as she moved with her husband to pursue the path that is medical school. I also had to say farewell as my friend took her new baby, who I share a name with. To this date, and likely beyond this date, until the end of my days, that tender revelation that my kindred spirit shared with me—one summer afternoon as I held that little newborn beauty in my arms—will be the greatest honor I will ever experience.
I was able to visit another best friend as she continues her schooling in Boston. She had invited me to attend a Young Single Adult Conference in the area and I spent a weekend becoming enriched socially and spiritually with other young adults who also question their paths in life. I was able to hear from Sister Elaine Dalton and Barbara Morgan Gardner, two women who embody intellect, courage, determination, and spiritual strength. Not only were the words they spoke over the pulpit transformational, I also was able to speak individually with Barbara Morgan Gardner and her advice about what I can do with my life, specifically academically has lingered with me. I know it seems vague, and that is intentionally so, since if I were to start revealing the advice and wisdom it would take more than a few sentences to explain, and deserves a newsletter of its own.
There were moments that occurred this year that were on my bucket list, yet I had no intentions or even a mental inclination that they would happen. I went on my first true roller coaster in the form of The Incredicoaster in California Adventure and therefore overcame one of my biggest fears. I judged young cellists in the Utah Cello Federation at the University of Utah (years after I myself played for judges). I saw the comedian Zoltan Kaszas live on stage and left with an abdomen aching from laughter. I had my make-up done by a celebrity make-up artist for Lancôme and we found ourselves laughing in the middle of an Ulta. I even saw the legendary and prolific cellist Yo-Yo Ma play with the Utah Symphony (something I never thought I would experience in my lifetime, in any part of the world much less Utah).
Yet the primary instance of a bucket list item being fulfilled unexpectedly was my trip to Prince Edward Island as part of an Anne of Green Gables and L.M. Montgomery tour. After the disappointment of not being drawn for the trip in the Fall of 2023, I fell into the routine of life, throwing money into my savings account when I could, hoping one day I would fulfill this dream. Then in February I received an email alerting me that I was next on the waiting list and a vacancy was available. So I applied for my passport, booked flights with two kindred spirits that I had never met from Utah, and flew to Canada on my first international flight. It was in PEI that I journeyed with a group of women from all over the world, all of us basking in the beauty of the rolling hills, red sand coastlines, and history of the island, and a shared love for Anne Shirley and her author, our dearest “Maud.” I never realized that not only would my dream of visiting PEI come true, but that I would meet the most delightful women who I communicate with at least weekly.
2024 was also the year where I was hit (rather forcefully) by the realization of how valuable being an aunt is to my life. I have been overwhelmed with the desire to spend as much time with my beloved nieces and nephews as possible, and creating experiences for us to bond. God must have known that this phase of my life would be characterized by a desire to nurture, and provided a litter of little souls who would be here to receive it until I have a husband or a little one of my own. The level of unconditional love I have received (and often felt unworthy of) from my nieces and nephews has been a crash course in the love of God, something I am still learning to trust in.
My 26th year was also the year where I felt for the first time in the three years I have taught, that I have a rhythm as a teacher. I started my career feeling weak, feeling as if I was ill-equipped not to teach, but to care for the students placed in my classroom. It was after I turned 26 that I realized the power I have as a calm presence and a friendly face for sensitive souls that often hide behind hard exteriors. I have learned that middle schoolers of this generation face uncharted territory in ways that those of my generation did not, and I have to be patient as they develop their bravery to combat the challenges they do and will face. Many want so desperately to be treated like adults, while at the same time still want to live out their childhood for a bit longer. It is a scary period of life (what I had described as the armpit of life while I was living it) and I accept that I am teaching these children at this time for a reason that is bigger than myself.
While reconnecting with a friend in Philly over text he observed from my updates that this year has been less burdensome. He specifically meant in regards to my career, I considered how accurate that observation was as a whole. I determined that it was not necessarily a lack of or a reduction of burdens. They still exist, and many have carried with me between the different years of my life. Physical and mental health challenges, financial responsibilities, aging relatives, illness, classroom power struggles, miscommunications between family members and friends, loneliness, etc. Yet I have seen how the existence of burdens does not dictate my ability to combat and travel through life with them. There are moments when I have had to gasp out pleas to God to ask for specific burdens to be lightened, but I have accepted that at some level or another, they will always exist, whether at a different level of intensity or different type in kind.
As I publish this newsletter, over a month after my 27th birthday jubilations, and on the first day of 2025, they are still questions I have as I stand on the threshold of 2025. My 2024 resolutions were still largely unattained, from mastering heatless curls to finally getting my wisdom teeth removed to reading one book a month. Those resolutions are forms of questions I will still try to attain this year. This year ahead is almost entirely a year of questions, so I have had to look back on this past year to see what answers and questions remain.
There are broader, sometimes frightening questions (I mean, being 27, I am frightened, to borrow from Charlotte Lucas) that I have no way of knowing. What friends will I reunite with or make this year? Where will I travel? Will my passport get some new stamps? What will my next group of students be like? Will sparks fly with someone new? Would my heart, wounded and weary, even recognize such a feeling? Will I continue my education? Will I have more answers by the end of this year?
Or perhaps one grand question will always remain, that maybe all years will be a mix of questions and answers? Nothing is ever final in mortality, so why should I start expecting that my birthdays or midnight ball drops to bring permanent answers to my life. Yet questions simply mean that my life is unfinished, which if that means I get to have more surreal moments, such as waking up to the cawing of ravens and cool island breeze of PEI, or holding my breath to hear each unamplified note of the world’s most famous cellist, I will take the questions ahead.
Now, in order to round out the theme of questions and answers, and to commemorate the start of 2025, I will leave you with these words,
Should old acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot
In the days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
We'll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne
Yours truly,
Jo
Thanks for sharing!!! I love your writing and introspection.