A new hope

I got an aura portrait at an event a few weeks ago, something I’ve been wanting to do for years. The experience of having the photo taken was far less supernatural than I was hoping, it was closer to being rushed through the line of school pictures during lunch in elementary school. I paid a little extra to receive a “reading” after my photo developed, so I was ready for that to be the exciting part.

I snuck a peek of another person’s aura portrait while they were getting a reading. It was bright, a rainbow of orbs surrounding her, like she was a fairy or something. It was complex and seemed meaningful, and in line with my amateur interpretation, the reader spent a long time reviewing and analyzing the photo with her. I was too far away to eavesdrop and catch the kinds of insights the aura had given to the reader.

My own photo was dark, with just red and purple surrounding me. It felt right, even though it’s not how I wanted it to look. My friend said “look how consistent yours is, that’s gotta mean something!” I shook my Polaroid to try to coax some extra colors out of the black corners.

Once it was my turn for a reading, I just felt embarrassed. My stupid little aura, only two colors, what could she say to me? And anyway, did I really think that a funky Polaroid could tell me anything about myself? I hadn’t expected this part to feel so vulnerable.

I sat down beside the reader and presented my Polaroid. In just the time it took me to sit I’d convinced myself the whole thing was snake oil, that I was silly to buy into it. I felt guilty for taking up the reader’s time and asking her to pretend to tell me things — couldn’t imagine there was much to say based on my red and purple arches. Her reading was quick and shallow (of course), and I found myself feeling sorry for her that she had to invent something to tell me. I figured she was looking at me with pity, too, me and my dull aura.

Takeaways from my reading: My aura is short because I don’t make myself big, I shrink myself. My creativity comes from my intuition (what does that even mean?) and I need to lean into it. I need to let myself be seen. She said she saw my ancestors hovering above me but I don’t see them, not like in the other person’s portrait. I’m from a humble line, I don’t think my ancestors have much wisdom to share.

The next day I tested positive for COVID and wondered if that had kept my aura small and dark. Truthfully, I’ve felt dark all year. I’ve been depressed and anxious and like I’m on some kind of existential treadmill with no control panel.

2023 was the year I let anxiety win, let it take over. There is something humiliating for me about this, being my own villain and victim. I’m nearly 40 years old and feel that I’ve backslid in my understanding of my place in the world.

My anxiety drove me to disengage from my writing group, to let too many text messages go un-responded-to, to back out of plans at the last minute whether or not my excuse was solid, and to generally let myself down. I spent most of the year feeling on the brink of a crisis. Bearing down, stashing supplies, digging out a bomb shelter for when everything inevitably falls apart. It’s come close, but the bottom hasn’t dropped from under me yet.

2023 was also the year that I began to feel my age, began to feel the effects of aging. It’s more than accepting the stubborn lines and folds in my face skin, that part is easy. It’s being one of the oldest people in the office, rather than among the youngest. It’s the recognition of doors closing that will never be open to me again.

It’s realizing that I’ve plateaued; I’ve achieved things I’d been striving for, and now I have to figure out what’s next. My work in the new year is to embrace this and get excited about designing my next 40 years of life now that I understand the rules a little better.

Reflecting on how lousy and out of control last year felt, I’m ready to take charge in 2024 and give up my excuses. I feel a sense of hope that I couldn’t get a firm grasp for the last year. I made myself a mini vision board for the new year that speaks to magic, looking beyond the immediate, and manifesting “a stunning debut novel” for myself.

Some wins from the last year:

• I sought refuge in work, and found validation and worth in a never-ending to-do list. (Not necessarily a win, but certainly the theme of my year.)
• I learned how to get vulnerable, but mostly at work.
• I built new friendships (also at work).
• I started climbing/bouldering, a practice in which I face and push through my fear.
• I participated in a juried writing retreat/workshop in California. I read my work every night to a room of writers more talented than I am (and they liked it).
• I saw everyone in my immediate family and celebrated my sister’s 50th birthday with them.
• I hit three years of no alcohol!