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I pulled the small ceramic rocking horse ornament from the tree.
Funny how we pick and choose what earns a place each year—what feels relevant, what still fits. After divorce, passing along the “Dad” ornaments. After estrangement, storing others away—no longer right to display, not yet ready to discard.
This rocking horse is my oldest ornament. From my pre-married days, bought shortly after my dad died. At the time, purchasing it felt like a stretch—financially and emotionally. But it marked something new: my first real imagining of being married, of having children.
I could almost picture it then—placing it on a tree someday with kids of my own.
Before that, I couldn’t see the point. I enjoyed being single. I didn’t want to hitch myself to anyone or be subservient in any way.
Then I lost the only person I truly trusted.
Standing alone at the funeral, something shifted. I felt an ache to be part of the cycle of life—to belong to something that continued, even with the imperfection of loss.
That little rocking horse became a quiet symbol, a tentative dream I didn’t name. An idea that would morph through marriage, divorce, lost love, and marriage again.
Over the holiday break, we went to see Will Arnett’s movie Is This Thing On. It follows a couple with kids who are separating, and navigating those early, disorienting days.
The dad stumbles into stand-up comedy partly to avoid paying a bar cover, but ultimately, to survive.
One piece of guidance keeps coming from his parents: give each other the grace to be human.
He mocks it, but it sticks.
That idea echoed something from my podcast interview with singer-songwriter Vienna Teng (see below), when she spoke about her efforts at deep canvassing—her belief that to navigate this deeply divided world, we have to learn to talk with and live alongside one another, rather than try to dominate each other into submission.
Somehow, we have to develop the grace to let each of us be human—no matter how uncomfortable, or even outraging, that humanity might be.
That idea stayed with me as I moved through the motions of the holidays. This year has been a test of being human. I’ve had plenty of moments that were less than perfect—times when I fell short, lashed out, or simply didn’t know how to hold myself together.
Moments when everything I’ve learned was tossed aside.
Looking back, I’m deeply grateful for the people who gave me room to unravel, who extended grace when I couldn’t muster it for myself.
And even this morning, I worried if this was a worthy theme for a newsletter.
Shouldn’t I be more optimistic? More supportive or New Year, New You?
And then I pulled my oracle card: 22, Tender Embrace. Four paragraphs down was the sentence: “Release yourself from the burden of perfectionism. Allow yourself the grace to be human.”
Okay, Universe.
Now the rocking horse is nestled in tissue paper in a red plastic bin in the basement. What will it be like to bring it out after another year in this world?
What opportunities will there be to practice grace?
Not perfectly.
Just humanly.
May it be enough.
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