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Dear Friends, Early Sunday morning, it started to snow. By mid-day, the field across the street from my house was filled with kids on sleds and dogs chasing snowballs. A blanket of white. The whole city, brightened. The real new year in January felt like a fake-out as insurrectionists stormed the Capitol building, tensions heightened ahead of the inauguration, and virus case-counts climbed. February, especially with such a stark change in scenery, feels like a fresh start. Okay, 2021, let’s try this again. It really does feel like the beginning of something, even as the pandemic continues. In the early spring of last year, I remember having hushed, wary conversations--do you know anyone who’s gotten sick? For a while, no. Then, yes--one person. Two people. More and more. Now, it’s: do you know anyone who’s gotten the vaccine? One person. Two. Now, my grandmother. My sister. My neighbor. More and more. Is it the beginning of the end? Hope has felt so elusive for so long. Admittedly, we have new beginnings on the brain right now. Laura Miles came on board in her new, full-time capacity this week, and with that exciting beginning comes new clients. From my end of things, the flurry of the new start is mostly administrative--paperwork, reminder emails, getting ready to send out art kits. The client and the therapist experience the real thrill of the fresh beginning. Trying something new. Beginning to connect, beginning to heal. Maybe using the snow as a reminder of possibility is nothing profound, but in these days where so much blends together, I will take it. Last weekend, I was reminded that The 100 Day Project kicked off January 31 (love that it’s now, and not January 1!)--people all over the world choose a creative project, commit to practicing it for 100 days, and share their work online. In 2016, Adele completed the project with 100 days of Bijou Zentangle. This year, you can follow along on her Instagram for 100 days of creating mini-moments of self-soothing. The rules aren’t rigid--if you missed the start date (or a day or twelve anywhere between day 1 and 100), it doesn’t matter, and the parameters of what you can do for your creative project...basically don’t exist. 100 days of painting? 100 days of writing poems? 100 days of reflecting on oracle cards, of photography, of practicing the piano? Artist Sophie Blackall’s 100 day project is to paint her hand once a day. “I don’t know how long I’ll last,” she says. “I’m hoping long enough to see most of us vaccinated and the beginning of the end of the pandemic in sight.” This is the power of structure and ritual, I think. The power of truly marking a new beginning. The idea that if we keep showing up and doing the good thing, we will look up 100 days from now and see that something big has shifted. That the world, or at least that we, in some way, have changed. Take good care, Dot
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