Some years pass quietly, like the hum of a fan on a lazy summer afternoon. Other years power through, taking breath away, both figuratively and literally. And still others are like getting up after sitting too long making life unsteady, creaky, and are indeed a good reminder of every mile traveled as though “there’s a million soggy miles soaking through the soles of my shoes.” 2024 indeed was the latter! It was a symphony of dissonance and clarity of age – “a beautiful war” – threaded together by a single, overwhelming sensation: I am not in control.
The year will be etched in my memory as one long, chaotic ride, punctuated by moments so vivid they could only be divine or absurd. Moments like America electing a megalomaniac promising cheap white eggs, a duct-taped banana being considered art and costing millions, or Olympic breakdancer, Raygun, making it onto a world stage. Yet other moments like a total eclipse to put life into scale, a tiny hippo that united the world, or a hurricane that humbled humans all existed alongside one another. So absurd they must be divine? Or so divine they must be absurd? Either way, someone or something is laughing with a sanitary napkin taped to their ear while eating a banana!
2024 was not all lost to the absurd. My wife once again endured a year of multiple sclerosis with a grace I do not know, and science, with its clinical trials promised progress and brought hope. Kari and I cling to the belief that advancing humanity’s knowledge is a mission worthy of all the heartache it sometimes demands. And yet, there were nights when I stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of how little I could do to help or steer the course of life for myself or others.
The sensation of losing control doesn’t come all at once. It creeps in slowly, like water dripping from the ceiling and rising at your feet until you realize you’re no longer standing on dry ground. This year, I waded through decisions at school, juggling the weight of administrative red tape with the raw reality of students who needed more than systems could provide. I waded through family moments, watching my beautiful bride do the same, knowing I couldn’t shield her or me from getting wet. But I knew together we would dry one another off and listen to the process of pain. It was in this loss of control that a strange freedom arises. What do you do when you can no longer stop the water? You swim! You float! You learn to find joy in the drift and meaning in the unpredictable.
So here I am, looking back at a year that spun me in circles and taught me how to hold steady anyway. If 2024 was a story, it wasn’t one I wrote. But maybe that’s the point. Stories, like rivers of water, carve their paths even when you’re too busy treading water to notice. As the year closes, the Ljs are learning to embrace the current, to find beauty in the chaos, and to anchor ourselves in the things that matter: the sound of conversation, the quiet of resilience, and the belief that even when we’re floating, we’re still moving forward.
Here’s to 2024—the year of letting go, and somehow, holding on.
Lj, Kari, Stone and Amaiya
Muddled Soma 