Happy, hopeful New Year
Tuatahi, firstly, I hope you’ve enjoyed a breath over the Christmas break and the lead up to 2024. I hope you found the calm that comes with those breaths away from whatever keeps you awake at night. Between the tendency of so many workplaces to shift into auto-sprint and squeeze every drip of sweat from December, the horrors overseas most of us only experience through screens held close, and the nervous anticipation of how our new government will or won’t support those of us most in need, time with at least one less thing on your plate is more important than ever, and twice as deserved as you think. Just for making it through this year, I hope you’ve been able to unwind.
It’s taken me until the last couple of days to shed the emotional weight I put on in the second half of 2023 as I fluctuated between depressed, angry, hopeful then finally sighed my way out into numb-brained, bone-deep exhausted. I’ve rode this cycle a few times now and this was by far the worst. Chances are, you’re just as tired.
If you were able to help in any way with Shoebox Christmas or the other kaupapa we’ve had growing on Koha Tree this year, I hope you know your community appreciates you, that you belong, and that we need you. I hope you’ve seen the flood of thank you messages from our mates in social services and schools on the Instagram and Facebook pages. While I wish we’d had enough resources to get these korero directly to you, we’ll have that system built and in place soon.
While we were dealing with all the trials of 2023, the Tūī I’m watching right now stayed singing and swooping, resting on Pōhutukawa branches purpose built to support flowers and feet firm. While so many whanau prepared for another emergency housing Christmas far removed from cards showing those bright red flowers in bloom, the Tūī drank its nectar made sweet for mutual benefit.
That ecosystem and mutually beneficial dance of our tuakana (older siblings) should be an example we aspire to.
Like them, we need the relationships that weave persons to be stronger as a people. Community is critical for our wellbeing. True community comes from intentional kotahitanga or togetherness through acts of kindness and vulnerability with your neighbors. We need to feel community not just in the functional sense of survival, of calling on our neighbours when the water rises over the stopbanks, of being able to share your neighbor's emergency water supply when the earthquake cuts off the mains. Even before needing to call on our community we need it. We need it for our mental wellbeing. We need to know we have the support of those around us. We need to know our purpose in our community. And we need to know we belong. That’s what you’ve helped build this year. One neighbor at a time.
I hope you also felt it. And I hope you feel all three in 2024. Like the Tūī perches supported on the Pōhutukawa branch, I hope you know your community is there for you. Like the flowers painted in purpose, I hope you feel a sense of direction in how you participate in your community - that you feel a sense of purpose, and like the tailor-made-taste tells Tūī the nectar is hers, I hope you know you belong.
If you can’t tell, for all the challenges we’ve seen this year, I hold a lot of hope. Next year, we’re all going to need to do the same.
Happy New Year, e hoa (friend). Let’s make it a good one.
Pera
PS Emily Writes writes much better about what’s going on overseas than I ever could. Check her out here.