We've made it to 2015. What a year it will be! Surely filled with adventure, exhilaration, ups and downs shared with good friends, travel, financial success, new ideas and great books.
The beginning of the rest of our lives. Ah, I love beginnings! They're the sweetest moments. For a cool, finite slice of time, inspiration dominates. Beginnings are beauty, you see, the beauty of possibility. It's like seeing someone across a room, a pretty girl perhaps, and you can't help but daydream about what you might say to her and how your lives might intersect for even a brief wink of time.
Everything is possible because each past action, experience, coincidence, failure, and hard knock has led up to it. Like a chapter in a book, the previous chapters having omitted nothing that wasn't critical to the story. We accept the totality of our past but see it in its best possible permutation: that without our unique history, we couldn't be the person capable of reaching all that we see before us. Our gravest failures weave a personal story that only reveals its meaning at a new beginning. Like standing on a mountain pass, not yet at the summit but able to see our paths trod and our paths to come.
New beginnings are poetry, where we see our time here on this wondrously confusing earth (and who would have it any other way, at such a beautiful beginning?) in one long narrative. At a beginning, we feel powerful, author and actor all at once.
Beginnings are a convenient fiction, a storytelling device; so we may as well write them ourselves. Beginnings are one of the prettiest lies we tell ourselves. Would we want to hear the true beginning of Hamlet, starting with his birth? The birth of the Kingdom of Denmark? Go back to a beginning, and you'll always find older and more ancient beginnings. Trace them back to the Big Bang, mythic and looming in our consciousness, itself a wonderful metaphor: a finite moment in time, pent-up creative energy seeking release, and of course the great explosion of energy that set in motion every human event we have conceived and plenty yet to come. Can our journey, our endeavors begin in any other way? By our efforts, we tap into a tradition of beginnings that runs deep and wide in the human consciousness. Dante upon scaling a hill was assaulted by a leopard, a lion, and a she-wolf, chased into the depths of Hell. His journey ends in Paradise.
We stand on the shoulders of giants, as Newton said. And the weariest, strongest shoulders that we rest on are our own, of our past selves and past lives. Our own history from years past. We were different people then, that led our present selves, like children, on our particular voyage through time, recounting the narrative of what is and what would be. Now we're spinning the yarn, and we must accept nothing less than an epic narrative.
At a beginning, we have yet to sully our thoughts with action. Pure thought and will is all we have at that moment. Dreams, but dreams we dream to make true by our effort. This euphoric state must end, or rather, must become at least an attempt before it can end, or else it never really was a beginning. In this way a beginning taps into the timeless: pure thought and reflexion that presupposes action, presupposes an end of some kind. Regardless of how difficult it may be, we must take action and make the attempt, doing what we fear the most to make true our dreams. For the beauty of a beginning is that it is transitory, giving birth to new life as the last snow of Spring.
A New Year can be the best beginning of them all. Let's set our feet out the door and walk resolutely towards our dreams; let's pick up our imperfect tools and begin shaping the ugliest simulacrum we can of our Muses. We'll release our own creative explosions, and releasing possibilities upon the world in ways we've yet to imagine.
Dillon Dakota Carroll
...sees much and knows much