A New Year and Permission to be Optimistic
Sometimes it feels good to be naughty
Halloween doesn’t usually factor into conversations about resolutions but I’ve been thinking about it as I stumble into the new year.
Before I left Mormonism I loved Halloween. It was my chance each year to safely explore taboos—the permission I needed to be naughty.1 One year while at BYU I dressed up as a woman and went to parties with a girlfriend dressed as my male-date. We looked good and got complements—outside of Halloween season we would have gotten in trouble for cross-dressing.
After leaving religion I still enjoyed the annual excuse to dress provocatively. In the early naughties I often chose politically-themed costumes—in 2000 I went as an “undecided voter.” (Remember those? And remember when politics was less of a blood sport? And when our political sense of humor hadn’t permanently morphed into a sense of horror?)
Halloween was less fun when I lived in London. Anything “fancy dress” works as a costume in the states, but in the UK it’s supposed to be spooky—skeletons, death, and whatnot.
So a decade ago when I returned to Los Angeles, I was glad to be back in the land of superhero characters and sexy cats. (There are always so many sexy cats in LA. It’s such a lazy choice. I know because I went as one my second year back—ironically, of course. It wasn’t because I couldn’t think of a costume, no… it was to bring awareness to the capitalistic sexualization and exploitation of, um, a children’s holiday and… uh, the repressive objectification of women… something, something, something, male gaze, and patriarchy? I lost my train of thought.)
I’m not gonna lie: it was a lot of fun being a sexy cat. Validating even. I felt seen.
So why write about Halloween in the first week of a new year? It’s been many years since I’ve put on a costume—and more since I’ve made resolutions. Somewhere along the way I decided I’ve outgrown both traditions: I don’t need to pretend that I’m someone I’m not to have a good time. And I don’t need dopamine-fueled declarations of new beginnings because I know the slow grind required for lasting self-improvement.
But right now I could use a little boost of new-beginning inspiration. I used to relish the excuse to be playful at Halloween. This year I’m giving myself permission to be naughty at the start of the year by being hopeful.
Last year everyone at the party I attended thought of a theme word to focus on for 2024. (I went with “Presence.”) The year before COVID I even made a vision board. To be fair I was at a yoga-retreat so there was peer-pressure involved, but it was refreshing to ask myself: what do I want?
I’ve been “on a spiritual path” long enough to see that I regularly trick myself into thinking I’m “going with the flow,” when I’m actually just spinning in circles—meandering aimlessly while pretending I’m “in the moment.”
It’s been helpful to open myself—to allow God (or the universe, the Dao, etc.) to act through me, like a spiritualized version of JFK’s famous inauguration speech, but at some point I have to acknowledge when God hasn’t been using me as a tool—I’ve been acting like a tool—waiting around for something to happen—often unwisely failing to act until being acted upon. (Or, not infrequently, pro-actively making things worse while waiting around for inspiration to strike.)
I’m starting this year with many hopes and fears. As I slowly inch my way into the public sphere to tell my story I’ve never had a stronger foundation—or more questions about where to focus my energy. If you’re reading this, I’m very grateful for your early support here! (Smash that like and subscribe button! Ugh.)
Whether it’s a goal or a resolution or an intention, this year I want to allow and accept grace in my life. So far I’ve identified with grace primarily by fucking up so badly it’s been my only option to survive. This year I aim to accept it—and embrace it.
And the word for the year that I’m choosing to support that is: believe.
This year I’m going to believe in love. Believe in grace. Believe that being is worth it.
But as a backup, I’ve still got the sexy kitty outfit in storage ready for Halloween.
Tangentially, I suspect this is also why my mom likes April Fool’s Day. Her God’s a serious dude most of the time but on April first even He likes a good prank.