Crumbs as Confetti: Why I’m Choosing to Celebrate in 2021

This is my year of celebration.  

I type this even as I jog up and down the stairs to repeatedly put the big kid back in her room for naptime and soothe the teething baby.

This is my year of celebration.

I type this even as the sky is a dull gray for what feels like the millionth day.

This is my year of celebration.

I type this even though we are still in a terrible pandemic, with the likelihood of receiving a vaccine months and months away.

This is my year of celebration.

I type this as even though any physical celebrations or parties or holidays have been small or nonexistent.

This is my year of celebration.  

Is it?

Well…at the very least, this is the year I no longer grieve.  I’ve grieved for months.  Mourned our move, mourned the pause on my career, mourned close family who have died, mourned the loss of a support network, and then mourned even the most mundane things of preschool pick-up lines and casual Saturday strolls through Target.  I have cried.  I have yelled.  I have wished for a different reality.  I have moped.  I have stress-shopped online.  I have written and talked about my grief.  I have grieved the last eighteen months every way I know how.  And now?  

Enough.

I’m done grieving.  Grief is natural but it can become an awfully heavy weight to carry.  So (God-willing), I’m putting it down.

There’s very little I can do to change my overall situation.  Justin’s job is what it is, our home is located where it is, and the pandemic and social isolation are continuing for the months to come.  The losses have been counted, and now we count the gains.  And celebrate.

Is celebrate even the right word? 

Am I being arrogant in a time of immense suffering?  “How are you doing?”  “Oh, I’m surviving.”  Yes, I am surviving.  But surviving doesn’t leave much room for anything else, does it?  Obviously it’s good to survive, but I can’t live in survival mode for long–the trauma of survival is exhausting.  (And let’s be real, most of our “surviving” isn’t a true life-or-death survival.)  But who says they are celebrating right now?

Well maybe I am celebrating. 

Maybe my joy is defiant, maybe my hope is gritty, maybe my spirit is courageous, and maybe my celebrations are tenacious. 

If the last eighteen months have taught me anything, it’s that I can choose to be bowled over by joy on random Tuesday or I can allow the same day to pass by in a blur.  I can choose to lean into an online community or I can allow the isolation of a pandemic to drown me.  I can choose to grieve, or I can choose to celebrate.  (Some days call for both)  But in this season of my life, right now, I choose to celebrate.  

Here are five ways I plan to celebrate this year.  

• I will celebrate this body that has carried me thirty-five years by cycling, walking, and doing yoga regularly.
• I will celebrate this stage of childhood by taking more photos and videos.
• I will celebrate the messiness of motherhood by getting comfortable with the ever-present crumbs.
• I will celebrate our family by displaying Lucy’s artwork, our family photos, and other visual reminders of our story.
• I will celebrate the holiness of the everyday life by continuing to share stories here on the blog.

To celebrate is to commemorate a day or praise something widely.  I want to commemorate my days.  I want to praise the ordinary holiness (or is it the holy ordinariness?) I’m tired of counting down, crossing off days on the calendar and hoping something, anything will get better.  I can’t control everything, but I can see and praise the good in every day.  I can choose to see this as the longed-for day, I can choose to celebrate each and every day.