The last two weeks of the year are generally when everyone cashes in on the easiest types of writing: “Best of” lists, reflections, predictions for the coming year. My website will be no different this week, except that there will be no cashing in on anything, and I wouldn’t dare make a prediction for next year, particularly after blowing it so bad on COVID. As one friend recently put it, about a phone call we had back in March, “you get no points for predictions.” I’m still hoping my coworkers forget every word I said that last week in the office. I mentioned the flu a lot.
Part of the draw to posts and articles like these is that they absolve the writer of the need for new material, right at a time when holidays and heavy meals make it appealing to just phone it in. The last few weeks of the year are the perfect time to relax with family and friends, but they’re also a period that can feel awfully close to a slump. A waste. And so productivity is cheapened – you’re no longer trying to do deep, meaningful work, but instead to churn out anything that shows you didn’t slow down for a minute. Or at least that’s how I imagine it.
But I always slow down at the end of the year. In the month of December, I’m much more likely to sleep in. I finish up my long runs a few miles shorter than I intended. This year my journal entries from the period are filled with guilty admissions and hopeful statements about 2021: “Another morning with no writing. Will get back to it in January.” Even reading feels like a crutch, something I do to avoid more important things.
Two years ago, in a particularly self-critical period around Christmas, I thought up the ultimate gesture of cheap, stubborn productivity: Running 26 miles on New Year’s Eve. I needed something to be proud of that required nothing of me but my lungs and legs. And – apologies in advance for sounding like such a prick – it wasn’t even much of an accomplishment. I’d run another marathon and my first ultra that fall, and was in good enough shape to finish comfortably. So what I needed was an easy win.
Well, I woke up the morning of the 31st feeling sick. I hate being sick. It was a strangely warm, overcast day. I moped around all morning, feeling like a loser for bailing on what was a stupid, self-inflicted punishment to begin with. But by noon, I was tired of the sad sack I’d become and I decided to lace up my shoes after all. Anything was better than stewing in my thoughts.
A look back on my phone shows a clean, four hour finish that afternoon. My mile times were consistently between 8:45 and 9:15 minutes per mile. I remember listening to some inspiring podcast interviews and feeling fresh when I reached the George Washington Bridge turnaround. I felt confident that no one I passed on the way was running as far as I was, and that felt good.
And when I got home? I was “cured.” I probably still had the slight cough and fever, but I felt like a million dollars. I decided somewhere on the Brooklyn Bridge to continue the tradition each December. This Thursday will mark year three.
What to make of this story? For one thing, I should probably develop a better coping mechanism for year-end anxieties. I wrote earlier this month about one such alternative: reflections. As I’ve continued that practice each year, I’ve certainly felt some of the anxiety wane.
But there’s something to be said for that million-dollar feeling, so close to the start of a new year. Here’s a picture from 2019, a mile or so before I turned around:
I’m outside. My cheeks are flushed. I’d paused to eat a dark chocolate granola bar and stare at the misty bridge, and some podcast guest was filling my head with ideas for the future. Most importantly, I was looking forward to the thirteen miles I had left to go.
Not everyone’s a runner, I know. But that same feeling above can be produced by a run of any distance, so long as it’s challenging enough. And there are many substitutes for running. I’d imagine a marathon cleaning session would produce a similar feeling. Spending the day at a soup kitchen. Going for a swim in really cold water. Something big in scope, with little chance of “failure.”
But if this doesn’t sound like you, let me suggest one more route to the million-dollar feeling: Sending kind words to others.
This year I did just that, inspired by something I’d heard on a podcast: “The most treasured gifts in the world are kind words spontaneously tendered.” I figured what the hell, and sent off some emails. I felt pretty good, albeit weird. I had never told these friends how much I appreciated their friendship.
Well, that little piece of wisdom turned out to be true. Kind words spontaneously tendered do make for great gifts – and they don’t suck for the people receiving them, either! Because that’s what I took away, as I read the replies that came in: “This is making me feel good.” It’s cheap productivity. This will come as a surprise to no one, but it feels good to make other people feel good.
And so another tradition of sorts was born, although one with looser parameters – to take time during the holidays to extend kind words to others. Because the words are right there, below the surface, waiting to be shared. And just like the New Year’s Eve marathon, the requirement is all physical: You just need your two hands.
Enjoy this final week of 2020 and reply to this message with any year-end traditions you’ve accumulated!
– Emmett
Recent Posts:
A Trip Down Memory Lane: January 2018 – What writing goals did I set out three years ago? *facepalm* (Blog, 4 min)
What I’m Reading:
Ninenty-Four Ways of Saying Thank You – Dear Sugar, The Rumpus, 2011
“For some reason, that little chore brought it all home: I was on my own, in good health, held a job. I had put a roof over my head. I could have a party and friends would come over and dirty up the place. I had friends. That trash run meant in some small way I was making my way through the world.”
Fish Cheeks – Amy Tan, 1987
“It wasn’t until many years later – long after I had gotten over my crush on Robert – that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the true purpose behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods.”