December 6: Giant holes in the ground and what can be found in them

I am cheating. I always do. I get behind, I try to dig out, but the hole just keeps getting bigger. So I cut corners—write a blog on Thursday and date it for Tuesday or change the scope of the project and make the posts weekly rather than daily.

Or I find something I wrote somewhere else and rework it….

This morning, somewhere between sending my newsletter and walking my dog, it occurred to me that for this Advent project I should re-read and respond to 2022’s blogs as a process of reviewing and integrating the experiences of the closing year.

Yes, that is kind of what I said I was going to do, but I didn’t really mean it. Not really-really.

In the introduction to this Advent project I wrote that I “could dig into what I already gathered” for inspiration rather than sourcing new content for these blogs—winter, post-harvest—the “raiding the larder” metaphor made intellectual sense. But emotionally, I was searching for some kind of end-around—a quick way to get started on this Advent project. Using what I already had would make keeping up with this blog easier, and perhaps a few people would read my past stuff.

But now, a few days in, I realize digging isn’t a cheat—it is the rule.

While I am tempted to write about the traditional December distractions of pushed-down-the-road resolutions and plans for the new year, the universe tricked me into staying with this year, digging through what I created and unearthing its artifacts. I told myself I was taking the easy way out, but I’m actually doing the hard work.

Today, at my request, a friend sent me a picture of from an archeological dig on which we both worked in the late 1990s. In the photo, I am alone, standing at the bottom of a pit with a shovel in one hand and a rake in another looking at the strange and giant hole I have (assumedly) made.

I don’t know what I found there, and I don’t know what I will find here, but I do know digging it up was my intention all along.