All week I’ve been thinking about what I want to share in my first post of 2024.

The blogs I read and newsletters I subscribe to are full of thoughts about the new year. People are reflecting on 2023 and setting intentions for 2024. They’re dreaming and planning, making goals and choosing words for the year.

The shift from one year to another is a beautiful invitation for a fresh start. And yet, nothing really changes with the date.

I relish every chance for a new beginning, often inventing reasons for them throughout the year, but this, too, is artificial. Our blank slate is never truly blank.

I have been dreaming and planning and setting out ideas for my year.

For my business. For my garden. For my life. It feels good and I am energized by thoughts of projects I want to tackle, paintings I want to bring to life, classes I want to teach and plants I want to grow.

But I’m also sitting in stillness. Considering not what other people are doing (or what I think I should be doing), but who I am and what I want for these next twelve months.

And that feels good, too.

2023 was a hard year for me. My words for the year were EXPAND and DELIGHT but my intentions surrounding them quickly derailed. I struggled with anxiety and anger, negativity and sorrow. For much of the year, I had a hard time finding inspiration and my energy lagged, too. 2023 had its beautiful parts, but I sometimes failed to truly savor them and even when I did, they were often fleeting.

Writing my blog (and my Joy Letter) gave me a chance to focus on beauty. With each post I shifted my attention to all that delighted me and brought me joy. I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful to you, for being here reading my words, for cheering me on.

I know we all struggle. Life in our world throws more and more challenges at our tender souls. The opportunity to set it all aside for a moment and dream of something beautiful is irresistible, isn’t it?

Sitting in my studio choosing the perfect word, setting intentions and making plans won’t end wars or fix our government or heal the planet. But it has been healing me.

I cannot fully show up in the world, bringing beauty and encouragement, if I am sick at heart. The process of healing — in whatever form it takes — is sacred.

Each day I sit on the floor and look out at my garden. I write in my journal. I sip my coffee or tea. And I return to myself. I return to the wonder of the natural world. I return to the excitement of creativity. I return to the joy of color.

These days, these quiet winter days, I have been feeling better. Something has shifted deep within me. Sitting in stillness has allowed me to reclaim my spirit.

Creativity is overflowing into all of my life. I have sprouts growing in a jar on my kitchen counter and in another jar on another counter, my sourdough starter bubbles away.

I’m remembering who I am and who I want to be.

This week I dusted off my sewing machine (literally, it was SO dusty) and finally hemmed my 2024 Tea Towel Calender.

When I opened my sewing cabinet to grab scissors and a needle, I saw my piles of fabric and felt a leap of excitement at the thought of returning to sewing.

After months of hardly touching my sketchbooks, I’ve been filling page after page with messy, joyful color. And I don’t want to stop.

I wonder how I ever let my sketchbook practice fall to the wayside.

Painting always leads to more painting and I began working on my first botanical watercolor of 2024 using the paint I mixed at the end of last year.

I’m savoring the process and delighting in the beauty that’s coming to life on my paper.

So, today, I’m not going to share tips and suggestions for what you should be doing to start your year off on the right foot. I’m not going to claim to know the secret to setting just the right intentions for the next twelve months. And I’m not going to send you to follow inspiring links to others who have figured it all out.

Instead I’m going to invite you to sit with me in stillness. Take a moment of quiet. Breathe deep. And to listen to your heart. Perhaps it’s hard to hear at first. Be patient. Give it space.

“Don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.”

—Rumi

Here’s to showing up in 2024! Happy New year, my friend.