New Year Doesn't Interest Me

+ The last Leisurely Scroll of 2023

Hello friends,

I don't celebrate New Year. I don't stay up until midnight, write down any resolutions or gather with family or friends. Honestly, I couldn't be more disinterested. 

I only notice the 1st of January is a slightly different day from the rest because I'm an empath, and I thrive when exposed to hopeful emotions. So, purely selfishly, I enjoy this period as I love seeing (and feeling) others so positive and determined, even if it's temporary.

One activity I do engage in, which starts around the beginning of November, is contemplating what I might like to explore more in the coming year. What is there room for? What's missing? What still excites me? What have I passed over this year that I'd like to revisit?

I do this because my ADHD brain quickly forgets stuff, even things which are important to me or that I'm passionate about, so engaging in this contemplation, using a full year as a container, is helpful, and making a note of it anchors it into my reality.

Of course, we do need a way to measure time. But if I were celebrating a new year, it would be in Spring. We humans are an intrinsic part of nature; we cannot be separated from her, so it doesn't make sense (to me) to celebrate a new year in the deepest, darkest depths of winter.

When I'm in the UK and not gallivanting around the world chasing sunshine to help warm my freezing body, January and February are a time for resting, being quiet, nourishing, and reflecting. I always find it a period of peak creativity in terms of new ideas and dreams taking hold. Then, when this valuable period has ended, I start making plans for the rest of the year based on what I've learned and how I'm feeling.

Before we head into the final Leisurely Scroll of the year, I'd like to tell you about a book I picked up by chance in a gallery in Dublin, which has enriched the end of my year.

I was in the Hugh Lane Gallery Shop hoping to buy an Andy Warhol print for my mum; sadly, they didn't have any. It didn't matter; gallery shops are one of my favourite places - so much culture, art, history, and knowledge - all with tasteful lighting and whispers. As I perused the tables, a lone book with a photo of a snow leopard entitled 'Antarctica' caught my attention. 

One of the best books I read this year was 'Skating To Antarctica' by Jenny Diski. It's a complex memoir about a woman who goes on an Arctic Cruise and uses it as a tool to reflect on her extremely difficult childhood. It sounds depressing, but it wasn't. Jenny Diski is a literary genius. The book profoundly affected me, and I'm grateful to have found her work.

So when I saw this new book by Irish author Claire Keegan with a similar title, alongside a quote which said: 'Among the finest contemporary stories written recently in English' by The Observer, I was excited and looked inside.

'Every time the happily married woman went away she wondered how it would feel to sleep with another man. That weekend she was determined to find out. It was December; she felt a curtain closing on another year. She wanted to do this before she got too old. She was sure she would be disappointed.'

Intrigued and hopeful, I bought it. But I didn't take it out of its brown paper bag until I returned home to Yorkshire a week later. I wanted to savour it, take it slowly, and read it in bed without any distractions, as I sensed something special about it.

I was absolutely devastated to find out it was not a novel; it was a book of short stories. How could I have missed this? I sighed and started reading anyway; after all, I had spent 13 euros on it.

The first story blew my mind. As did the next and the next and the next. I realised quickly that each story was so unique, intriguing, powerful and complex that it must be digested slowly to be fully appreciated. Utterly absorbing. It seemed like a waste to move directly on to the next story without fully contemplating the complexities of each within my mind.

There are fifteen stories, and I waited a few days between reading each one, treating myself to devour another when the time was just right.

Since I read that first short story, I have read her novel (more like a long short story), Small Things Like These, and ordered her latest book, So Late in the Day.

Claire Keegan grew up on a small farm in Ireland, and this very specific heritage, so beautifully portrayed, either in physical scenes or individual personalities, informs each story.

I find writing book reviews or literary criticism very hard. All I can say is the work is magical, solid, secure, surprising, comforting, familiar, ingenious, and utterly satisfying. To find out more, you might enjoy this article in the Atlantic: For decades, Claire Keegan has been exploring the shabby way the world treats women.

I have never encountered work like it and wanted to share this wealth with you. 

If you're not familiar with her or her work, I have no doubt that reading it will bring something unknown yet special to your life.

Now for the last Leisurely Scroll of the year 🎺

I've reviewed eight films/series I've watched this month (none are festive) that I've loved for various reasons. All will entertain and delight during these challenging months as we search for bearable stuff to consume.