Esther
2024년 12월 31일
turning the page: 2024 to 2025
The last day of the year. Morning stretched before me like an unwritten page, offering a rare stillness for reflection. I cradled a book in my hands, one plainly written yet deeply affectionate - a narrative woven with exquisite detail, memories revisited not through cloying nostalgia but with the wisdom of time and the quiet clarity of maturity. Its pull was gentle yet insistent, urging me to linger, but the faint pressure of what one ought to do on the year’s final day crept in, growing steadily louder. Reluctantly, I closed the book and turned my gaze inward.
On Books:
This year, I read more books than I can recall reading in recent years - perhaps fifty or so. The reasons for this surge seem clear: steadier hours for teaching and a growing need for escapism, an act of defiance against the anxious currents of life. There is comfort, even if illusory, in equating the number of books read with the accumulation of wisdom. But I realize the act of reading itself has been less about wisdom gained and more about the solace found in stepping away from the chaos of the world and into the ordered beauty of stories.
On Relationships:
I have tried, with varying success, to cultivate healthier relationships - with myself, with others, and with the things I hold as true, good, and beautiful. Yet the rhythms of daily life - the routines that shape thought and action - often carry me away in unnoticed currents. These habits blur the small, vibrant differences in my days, the ones worthy of attention. It is a subtle, forceful tide, and I wonder how often I let it take me too far from the shore of what truly matters.
On Teaching:
Teaching feels as though it has become a second nature, yet paradoxically, it grows harder as I learn to notice what once escaped me. The challenge lies not in the material itself but in communication - conveying ideas that another human being, with their unique ways of thinking and feeling, must absorb and apply. The complexity of this task humbles me, reminding me how intricate even the youngest of minds can be. There is so much still to learn about meeting others where they are and walking alongside them all the way.
On Roles in Life:
Before I am a teacher, I am a daughter, a sister, and a friend. These roles anchor me. Taking care of those I love is both my greatest responsibility and my deepest joy, a source of delight untouched by the demands of compensation or return. With age, I’ve grown more attuned to the hierarchy of what matters - a sense of proper order in value and meaning. Work, fulfilling and sustainable, must be an extension of who I am, not a performance to prove something alien to myself. Whether this ideal has fully translated into my teaching, I cannot say. But I hold onto the hope that awareness itself is a step toward integrity.
On Life Itself:
Life - its sheer givenness - remains a miracle, fragile and precious. Recent national tragedies have starkly reminded me of this fragility. The intricate weave of our social and political lives, often taken for granted, can unravel with startling swiftness. In the face of such reminders, once again, I resolve to look back less in regret and to refrain from presuming upon the future with unwarranted confidence. Instead, I intend to inhabit each moment more fully, with gratitude, and to return the gifts I have received to those around me.
As the year slips quietly away, I sit with these thoughts. They do not bring closure so much as clarity - a map, perhaps, for the unmarked days to come.