Have you ever chosen a “Word of the Year” before?

I haven’t. This is my first time.

Through the years I’ve made New Year’s resolutions, set goals and intentions, and saved many dream and vision boards on Pinterest, but in reality, most of those practices just turned out to be little ceremonies in of themselves that never really kept me inspired, focused, accountable, or flexible. But a single word that won’t distract me from my purpose, that won’t overwhelm me with checklists and timelines, that I can filter all of my thoughts, opportunities, and decisions through in order to keep aligning with what matters to me most, now that seemed fitting and refreshing for 2021.

Surrender.

I asked for my word of the year to appear. So when I woke on New Year’s Day and stepped out onto my deck and into a bright, glorious ray of sun, I accepted it. “Light.” Obviously the word had presented itself and it seemed wonderfully fitting for a fresh start: turn towards the light, be a light, feel light, leave a light footprint on Mother Earth, and lighten my grip on expectations and outcomes. But it wasn’t my word.

This other word, my word, was seeking me out from behind the glare, following me for days, and showing up in odd places to get my attention. I kept ignoring it because I disdain this word. I think most of us do. “What?!” I asked of it. “You’re not my word. I have my word. I don’t like you or your loser cousins ‘submit’ and ‘content.’ I’m ambitious, and a fighter, and a survivor. I don’t surrender. Now go away!”

But after days of this, I felt the gentle reminder that if I ask for a gift of growth, it’s going to arrive in the form I need most. Light will not be mine until I surrender. I’ll keep inviting these difficult lessons into my life over and over and over again until I surrender. Staring again into the sun, I felt the soul nudge that if I truly want to experience all of the beauty of the light, I’m going to have to surrender to some things darkening my days.

And maybe surrendering isn’t as cowardly as I’ve always made it out to be. Maybe surrendering is a big, brave, bold step of faith in a different direction than the one we fight so hard to hold on to.

So…

I surrender.

I surrender my fear: I move through each day with intention, love, and knowledge, feeding my mind for peace and my body for wellness.

I surrender my pity: “It wasn’t supposed to be this way” doesn’t fit when I trust the timing of my life.

I surrender my anger: I don’t need to prove my worth to people who choose to dig their heels into the sidelines of my life, desperately clinging to inaccuracy and betrayal.

I surrender. And I’ll need to practice this a million times. ‘Cause dang, this feels ALL different. Especially to the 11-year-old girl inside of me who still vividly recalls one of my most exhilarating and liberating life moments: riding my bike further than usual through my neighborhood one summer afternoon, wearing sparkly clear jelly shoes and socks, then coasting down the steep hill on Brook Street, the wind in my hair, singing Corey Hart’s “Never Surrender” at the top of my lungs.

“To some people, surrender may have negative connotations, implying defeat, giving up, failing to rise to the challenges of life, becoming lethargic, and so on. True surrender, however, is something entirely different. It does not mean to passively put up with whatever situation you find yourself in and to do nothing about it.
Nor does it mean to cease making plans or initiating positive action. Surrender is the simple but profound wisdom of yielding to rather than opposing the flow of life.” – Eckhart Tolle

Painting by my sweet Summer—the brightest light I’ve ever seen.

 

I’m listening to: