2024 Winter Solstice Greeting

Dear Esteemed Readers,

As I begin my (now almost "traditional") winter solstice greeting, the longest night of the year is fast- approaching, and the atmosphere here in snow-covered Tieton is decidedly dark, darker...and darkest. It is only 4 pm, and I have already switched on my beloved, retro, red and green, holiday "bubble light" candelabra on the window sill, which never fails to generate some much-needed cheer.

In my 2023 winter solstice postcard, I described the historical background (and likely "inspirational" source) of my candelabra as a “Hybrid, Nine-Light, Christmas Menorah,”—a festive, equal-opportunity decoration that always brings a smile to the faces of my eclectic circle of Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Solstice-honoring, and non-believer friends alike..."

Along with these written and visual reminders of my candelabra's biographical grandeur, this year's 2024 solstice greeting includes an extraordinary short story written by American author Elizabeth Gilbert, which illuminates this post's restorative theme from a slightly different perspective.

The story first appeared in Oprah magazine in 2016 with the title "This Little Light of Yours." And since then, it has been endlessly shared and reshared to bring smiles to the faces of countless readers throughout the world. I discovered the story myself in an email I received from a friend, and am now passing it on to you. The story is a perfect reminder of the power of thoughtful generosity, courtesy, and simple creative magic to help shift troubling everyday situations back towards the light.

This Little Light of Yours

by Elizabeth Gilbert

Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated with one another, with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. "Folks," he said, "I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. I can't do anything about the weather or traffic, but here is what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don't take your problems home to your families tonight, just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I will open the window and throw your troubles in the water."

It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who had been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other's existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?

Oh, he was serious.

At the next stop, just as promised, the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up but everyone did it.

The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.

We live in a hard world, my friends. Sometimes it is extra difficult to be a human being. Sometimes you have a bad day. Sometimes you have a bad day that lasts for several years. You struggle and fail. You lose jobs, money, friends, faith, and love. You witness horrible events unfolding in the news, and you become fearful and withdrawn. There are times when everything seems cloaked in darkness. You long for the light but don't know where to find it.

But what if you are the light? What if you are the very agent of illumination that a dark situation begs for? That's what this bus driver taught me, that anyone can be the light, at any moment. This guy wasn't some big power player. He wasn't a spiritual leader. He wasn't some media-savvy influencer. He was a bus driver, one of society's most invisible workers. But he possessed real power, and he used it beautifully for our benefit.

When life feels especially grim, or when I feel particularly powerless in the face of the world's troubles, I think of this man and ask myself, What can I do, right now, to be the light? Of course, I can't personally end all wars, or solve global warming, or transform vexing people into entirely different creatures. I definitely can't control traffic. But I do have some influence on everyone I brush up against, even if we never speak or learn each other's name.

No matter who you are, or where you are, or how mundane or tough your situation may seem, I believe you can illuminate your world. In fact, I believe this is the only way the world will ever be illuminated, one bright act of grace at a time, all the way to the river.

To additionally celebrate the 2024 return of light, I’m including the final installment from my treasured collection of Ralph Vaughan Williams' shorter musical compositions, which are based on traditional English folk songs and hymns that he researched and recorded himself. For this solstice post, I'll be sharing the first number of his 3-part composition titled English Folk Song Suite, which was written in 1923. In the recording below, the conductor features the more robust, buoyant, and uplifting sound of an arrangement for wind ensemble that invites audiences to join in the march themselves.

My favorite melody near the beginning of suite, titled "Seventeen Come Sunday," is rendered by a sweet, plaintive, but dignified trumpet solo, whose nostalgic melodic embellishments appear again towards the end of this introductory section.

Vaughan Williams is one of the only composers I know of who translated traditional musical folk motifs into more formal compositions with reverence, respect, and genuine love.

March, from English Folk Song Suite (Seventeen Come Sunday) — North Texas Wind Symphony
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I hope you have enjoyed this Solstice-honoring collection of stories, images and music—which is meant to warm your hearts, generate smiles, and prepare you to celebrate the seasonal return of light.

This post is published at 1:19 a.m. PST December 21, 2024, the exact moment of the Winter Solstice.

With all best wishes for 2025,

Sandra Dean, Visual Artist
Tieton, Washington USA

Additional resource

Elizabeth Gilbert Official Website
The renowned author of Eat, Pray, Love brings you behind the scenes to share her life and experiences.