100 Philosophers

Some words have been stuck behind the shadow of a new set of priorities, but they’re not all locked away. I’ve been thinking out loud and forgot how to have that conversation with myself here. 

Dear January,

In many ways this month has felt too heavy to write through. Simply put, I haven’t known what to say. I’ve felt the weight of the words more than I’ve known how to write them. I’ve only managed to write fragments of what I want to say.

I’ve always held that the rhetoric you choose holds the power to either create sacred spaces or tear them apart. Now I’ve watched as a man has stood before the world and attempted to shred some of this nation’s most sacred spaces to pieces, and I’ve questioned the power of language to pull us out of a fog.

As I write this, I’m eight days into my final semester of college, and there’s not a damn day that’s gone by when I haven’t thanked my lucky stars for my right to this education. It’s one that many women fought for, and I’m reaping the benefits. I’m thankful for a teacher who wrote my recommendation letters for life-bettering writing programs and who taught me that I could write through anything—my mother’s cancer, my broken heart, and this horrible political climate.

Today and this month, as I’ve been reading the language written as a reminder and warning and battle cry, I’m reminded that the movements that brought us to this place have had the power of voices behind them. 

Here’s to being a little louder.

Dear January, 

I tried to do a blackout poem for today, and did, but it failed miserably. So even though I have something to post that’s actually from the 22nd, I’m writing this on the 25th as a substitute. Oops.

Dear January, 

Thinking about marching with everyone today at the Women’s March makes me want to cry happy tears. I watched as a woman walked through the crowd, holding onto the hands of her tiny daughter as she marched on her own two feet. It was one of many moments.

It’s powerful to be surrounded by people who fight for the same values. It’s powerful to know you’re on the same team. Womanhood is sisterhood. 

Love, Madison

I felt nauseous when I woke up this morning. I don’t know if it was because of the inauguration or outside anxieties, but I had a terrible time falling asleep the night before.

Looking back on the past year, there are few things I’d change, but few still. I would’ve been more outspoken about my thoughts on the election on social media. I would’ve called family and friends and strangers and asked them to vote for Hillary Clinton. I would’ve explained what her candidacy meant to me beyond the context of her opposing candidate. 

I’m not sure what any of this would’ve accomplished, but there are always ways we can be better. I hope to be more outspoken, more ambitious, and more gracious this year. 

Tomorrow we will march in downtown Austin for the Women’s March. Once again, it’s time. Once again, we will not be silenced.

Dear January, 

Writing these letters has felt anticlimactic thus far. I’ve doubled up on more days than I’d like to and have been busier than I thought I’d be.

It’s hitting me that tomorrow Barack Obama will no longer be the president of the United States, and that feeling I had the morning after election night last November is coming back in full force.  

I don't know what to say.

Goodnight,

Dear January, 

This semester is the first that feels like it’s truly mine. After 15 hours of coursework every semester thus far, I’m taking 9 and focusing on my part time job + applying for jobs post-graduation. I’ll have time to work, read, and focus on building a routine for my life. 

It feels like a beginning and it is. I am immensely grateful. Here’s to my last first day of college.

Dear January,

I’ll admit, I’m writing this letter a few days late. Today I’ll write three. But hey, a girl has gotta do what a girl has gotta do. Being busy is a good thing for me.

I’m finally starting to feel like a real human again. My cold has turned into a head cold, school has started back up again (as of the 17th), and I’m feeling like I can think straight again.

In my head this week: 

“Weak,” AJR—for feeling like an anthem 

“Haze,” Tessa Violet—for “I'll be your empathetic savior / Call me up, I'll meet you later / You can praise me for the way / I always know just what to say / I'll carve into your ribs and / Leave you crying for a kiss / Just for kicks”

All the country music on 98.1 FM in Austin, TX

“WOMEN” by Chloe Caldwell

Dear January,

I’ve been sick for the second time in four weeks. It’s the worst, but I’ve been watching Reign pretty much all day. By all day, I mean beginning at around 2 PM because I’ve been letting myself sleep forever in the hope that this cold will be gone by the time school starts on the 17th. I’ve never had a cold last less than 5 days. Mine usually last 7. Anyway, that’s all for now. 

Dear January,

I’m sick again. An inconvenience. No lengthy letter today. 

Dear January,

This is a letter for two days, again. I drove back to Austin on the 9th, spent that night and the day of the 10th with friends who were in town, then dove straight into resume revision and spring cleaning. 

On the 11th I watched President Obama’s farewell speech and wanted to write you about it, but I didn’t know what to say. I shed tears again and again because of the privilege it has been to grow up under the Obama administration and because language is important to me. President Obama’s words were feilled with hope, class, warning, and were a call to action. I cried because in one week these United States of America will have a new president.

I cannot fathom what the next four years will look like. Not only because I’m graduating and will establish a career within those four years, but because I find everything about the President Elect’s rhetoric and demeanor unsettling.

I’m sure this letter seems long winded, but such is life sometimes.

Love, Madison

Dear January,

Who knew little nostalgic me would become such a fan of new beginnings?

Dear January, 

There was a line in a favorite TV show that struck me tonight: “There are a lot of ways to serve.” 

The words are simple and were a part of a cop show, but the message reigns true. It reminded me of my education and how we were always taught to be people for others. There are many ways to do that. You can serve by smiling at a stranger on the street or in a bookstore, checking in on a friend, inviting someone to coffee, or simply expressing your gratitude and appreciation.

I cannot tell you how many times my day has been made by others’ simple acts of service or by making someone laugh or smile.

I think 2017 will require quite a bit of service. I hope I remember to turn toward service and gratitude.

Dear January,

Maybe old habits don’t die so hard after all.

Dear January,

Some Notes for 2017:

Rest and take an hour (and a half) for yourself every day

Take short breaks

Remember routine

Write it down

Color Palette: black and blush, olive green

Turn to poetry

Dear January,

This year I hope to find a balance between hanging on and letting go. In 2016 I learned to embrace life as it came and turn to gratitude in times of need. I learned that there’s grace in being in it for the long haul and hunkering down, but also grace in letting things go. Overall, I’d say my focus was on working to be my best self in the midst of a sometimes chaotic chapter. Here’s to another.

I’ll be honest, I’m writing this letter a few days late. I’ve had it in mind for a while, but meetings and exhaustion have kept me from writing the letter I needed it to be. Again, I’m reminding myself that this project doesn’t need to be about deadlines. This project is about me and you together.