Navroz, a second new year

The coming of spring is a better time to celebrate a new year. December and January are too cold. The world is hibernating then. In the spring, the grass is greening and buds grow like pimples on trees. Parties become more fun in adolescence.

Today is Navroz, the new year for many people of Persian descent. I like these types of dates because they mark a clear end and beginning: yesterday was the last day of winter and today is the first day of spring. It’s definitive. This sort of structure gives the illusion of delineation in an otherwise uninterrupted continuity.

Coming nearly three months after the December-January new year, Navroz is an opportunity to assess your progress toward your goals. It can be likened to a first-quarter review. This is a good time to adjust your goals now that you’ve had some time to settle into the year and have a better sense of what it’s going to be like.

It was wrong to attach so much hope and promise to this year because it’s no different from any other year. It’s just time. This year has the same qualities and function as does any other time. But, 2021 had greater expectations placed upon it because we expect more from ourselves after how we spent our time in 2020. We externalised our responsibilities in an attempt to relinquish the burdens that they bring with them.

The world outside of us is continuing to do what it always has done. Nature has a clarity of purpose that allows it to adjust well to changing circumstances. Nature remains true to itself in all instances. The growth of a potted plant is limited not by its purpose or intentions but by its circumstance. If moved to a bigger pot, a plant will grow larger, filling the space that it has room to occupy. In each pot, small or large, it’ll survive by making do with what it has available. The size of a plant is not a measure of its purpose or intentions.

Too often, we stop growing because we become aware of the size of the pot we are in. We see our potential and decide that the limits placed on it are too great, stopping us from continuing to stay true to our intentions and purpose. We don’t make the most of what we have. But, more than that, we blame our boundaries for our inability to work toward them.

These demarcations of time are a fresh watering. They are both cleansing and nourishing. They have the potential to revive a wilting spirit. They are a reminder to stay true to your nature. They are not an expression of hope or promise for something more. We alone are responsible for the fulfilment of our intentions and purpose.

This type of work is much easier to do in the spring.

Navroz Mubarak.


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