100 things that made my year (2024)

Greetings friends, how are you? I spent much of the latter end of 2024 and the initial part of 2025 floored by one of the worst bouts of flu (possibly Covid) I've had in a while. During this time, it was all too easy to slip into thoughts of "why, why now, when will this pain end?", and I did. And thanks to many years of mind-training (i.e. the Buddhist Dharma), I was able to flip those thoughts while in the midst of my physical suffering to broaden my view and feel into, touch into, reconnect with the reality that nothing is permanent, constantly awful or irredeemably bad.

I was thus inspired, by this determination not to throw a second arrow (the Buddha's term - for when we pile pain upon pain by fixating on the problem), and by a recent post by the blogger Austin Kleon, to reflect on the many small and big things that made my year.

I share it here in case as with Kleon, my list inspires you to remember the things that glimmered and glowed, the moments that lifted you up, that gave you cause to pause and linger in the experience of the many moments that comprised 2024. Externally, and at times internally, it was a real shit-show. And at the same time, because there is no shadow without light, it was a gift.

Here you go:

1.      The feel of a freshly laid brown egg in the palm of my hand courtesy of the hens alongside whom we enjoy this rural life, again and again. A treat and a gift that never loses its magic

2.      A rare and wonderful festive break spent in the company of my father, listening to stories of his carefree youth in Uganda, watching him enjoy the peaceful downtime afforded by a rural landscape and a place free of demands and distractions

3.      Binge reading all of Amy Tan’s books after realising so much of her work is about the fracturing and repairing of mother-daughter relationships, echoing one of my favourite contemplative teachings from Joy Harjo who in Poet Warrior asks if all of our lives are spent picking at and seeking to understand the wounds we inherit from generations of women who come before us

4.      The fading out of the urgency to read more, write more, ingest, produce and regurgitate; the extended pause that came after stopping writing, and the return of an effortless rate of writing when I feel like rather than when I feel I should

5.      The multiple jewels dropped by Rebecca Solnit in ‘The Faraway Nearby’, possibly the best, most resonant and profound book I read this year, in which she says:

“We are all the heroes of our own stories and one of the arts of perspective is to see yourself small o the stage of another’s story, to see the vast expanse of the world that is not about you, and to see your power, to make your life, to make others or break them, to tell stories rather than be told by them.”

6.      Returning to the practice of creative journaling, combining the joy of playing with oil pastels, colouring pencils (from my youth!), watercolours and collaging leaves

7.      The wisdom of John Berger in the classic ‘Ways of Seeing’: “Seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognises before it can speak.”

8.      A smooth drive in a car with four functioning wheels, remembering that panic and dread gets me nowhere fast (as was the response on learning that our beloved car needed yet more repair work) and that it’s also the inevitable first – but not final – response to drama

9.      The pleasure of diving deep into the intricacies and complexities of the history and politics of climate change; the thrill of doing so for the purpose of researching a commissioned ghost-writing project; the pleasure and satisfaction of working for two remarkable, relatable and reliable clients

10.  Hosting mum and dad for a week in September, enjoying a walk in the woods, coffee and cake; seeing them walk together over the hills taking in the freshness of the air while picking nettles to soothe their bones

11.  Watching two pairs of hawks fight for the right for space in the sky above as Dylan and I paused our search for fungal delicacies

12.  Scrunching through the squelchy woods when friends came to visit, meandering in circles through the forest that led straight back home without the intended detour – and feeling that it mattered not one bit because the gladness was in the conversation as we wandered

13.  Feeling deeply moved in my bones and in my cells by music to the point where I was pretty much dancing with my headphones in at Portugal airport, waiting to fly back to Devon after a life-changing plant medicine and Tantric Buddhist experience with beloveds old and new

14.  Friendly delivery drivers who battled the winter elements to bring us our food during the winter months

15.  The authenticity of participants and fellow writers who came to my classes and spoke their truth freely

16.  The spiritual, physical and mental satisfaction that comes from restraint, specifically refraining from food for extended periods as a practice in forbearance rather than deprivation (and thus the embodiment of flipping an old storyline that society led me to connect fasting with diet culture alone, and in turn, a return to an ancestral practice of spiritual elevation through careful endurance and patience)

17.  The sustaining wisdom of Ruth King in this practice who in ‘Mindful of Race’ says:

“By intentionally choosing restraint and knowing it directly, we do less harm to others and ourselves. We become less habituated, impulsive and anxious because we know what we can do without. We become stronger, more stable and more full of choice. Most important, we discover what our minds can endure and what our hearts can metabolize.”

18.  Sunlight dappling me with warmth as I worked in the shed on colder days

19.  Chickens spreading their wings to flutter off the dust and feel the breeze

20.  Crows in the tree that I have taken to be the home of my protectors

21.  Formally taking refuge with Lama Justin and contemplating what it means to have a living source of compassion, a community of practitioners, and a way of peace to guide my days

22.  Dancing with friends on a summer afternoon feeling superbly happy and high

23.  New books dropping through the door delighting me with possibility of learning something new

24.  The funny distinctive warbling sounds of the chickens puttering about the place

25.  The teachings of Lama Rod Owens in ‘Love and Rage’ which were a balm, a fuel and a salve during the summer’s violence in the UK, and the words he shared of Audrey Lorde: “But anger processed and translated into action in the service of our vision and our future is a liberating and strengthening act of clarification, for it is in the painful process of this translation that we identify who are our allies with whom we have grave differences, and who are our genuine enemies. Anger is loaded with information and energy.”

26.  Milo bounding through the paddock alongside me, watching him stride across the fence posts at sunset, enjoying his company at sunrise as we release the Ladies each day, his squinty little loving winks and his cheeky scampering in haste

27.  Shelter from the many gusty storms of the year inside a warm house

28.  Beginning my chaplaincy training with Lama Justin and immersing myself more deeply in my personal spiritual formation

29.  Last year’s foresight to stock up on candles in case of the power cuts that did indeed come

30.  Thermal socks keeping my extremities warm on freezing cold days

31.  Rainbows and sunshine on wet grey days

32.  Sunlight patterning the white walls at golden hour

33.  Hearing the voices of my parents

34.  Relearning and refreshing my own understanding and practice of wellbeing while writing for The Week Junior in a bid to encourage young children and teens to embrace the many hues of life’s journey

35.  Watching bedsheets fling themselves about on the washing line in the wind

36.  The smell of fresh air on freshly laundered linen

37.  Joy Harjo’s voice relaying her story of becoming Crazy Brave, keeping me company on the four hour drive to my parents’ home

38.  Momentary relief when pain subsides and the reminder during its intensity that it will make way, eventually, for ease

39.  Being given a Dharma name that makes more sense every time I remember to remember it; The Melodious Song of Liberation

40.  Walking and chatting our way through the many forests of Devon and Dartmoor with a dear friend of an incredible 20+ years

41.  The wisdom of Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, in ‘In Love with the World’, another of the year’s good reads:

"People everywhere try so hard to make the world better. Their intentions are admirable yet they seek to change everything but themselves. To make yourself a better person is to make the world a better place... Until we transform ourselves, we are like mobs of angry people screaming for peace. In order to move the world, we must be able to stand still in it.. Nothing is more essential for the 21st century and beyond that personal transformation. It's our only hope. Transforming ourselves is transforming the world.”

42.  The way Milo asks to be cuddled in the middle of the night, the feel of his warm furry breathing body snuggled into my armpit and face

43.  Cold slate floor on burning feet

44.  Finding the right HRT, finally

45.  Thick chunks of almond butter in an oily syrupy tub

46.  Being there for Tina Turner and PamPam the chickens as they took their last breaths in my arms, allowing me the chance to thank them for their lives before bidding them farewell

47.  The company and unspoken connection with retreat friends in Portugal

48.  Laughing raucously with my Dharma sibling Ekta the first time we met in Portugal

49.  Friendly assistance in the farm shop when I was struggling with a 20kg bag of chicken bedding

50.  Delicious mithyai lovingly selected by my mother for my pleasure

51.  Words and sentiments of reciprocated gratitude from writing students

52.  Listening to the dawn chorus on a Spring morning

53.  Seeing the stars before the sun rises

54.  The light of the moon illuminating the kitchen at 4am on an Autumn day

55.  A room of my own at the bottom of the paddock, prayer flags fluttering, robins skitting about on the decking, cats coming freely as they pass

56.  Sage wisdom, kindness and love from all my teachers (family, friends, teachers, all beings)

57.  A headache fading out

58.  Teeth with fewer holes after deciding that my mouth is worth taking better care of

59.  The sheer relief of a head massage

60.  Sunshine, always the sunshine

61.  Attending a family wedding with my mum, sister and niece and being part of a joyful celebration that countered the country’s mood of the time that hung cloud-like with thankfully unrealised threats

62.  Endorphins coursing through me as I run through the country lanes and rediscover the joy of pacing my way through a happily invigorating exhausting hour

63.  Watching a rabbit eventually find its way back into the bush from which it came as myself and another runner stopped it in its tracks in the middle of a country road

64.  Rita the chicken’s life and the time we had to love her

65.  Watching Generation 5 of our rescue hens – Jimmy, Timmy and Stephen – settle into their new life with us in their coop, seeing the personalities emerge with every day that they felt safer, watching them happily skip off from the ground in excitement as they run towards me. Pure love.

66.  This life

67.  Two new tattoos; watching the words emerge on my arm, the colours scab and heal, the burn make way for permanent pleasure

68.  How my niece awakens the childlike qualities in me

69.  A voice with which to speak up, speak out, declare love, decry hate, chant for healing, shout for justice, pray for peace

70.  Tugging at weeds and dragging out stones from toughened soil, the simple satisfaction of doing fundamental work

71.  The rustle of bamboo and grasses as winds whip around the house

72.  Reconnecting with the joy of painting for pure pleasure, the sensation of oil pastels glide across the page making marks with no intention other than to feel and see

73.  Knowing that however extreme the feeling of hunger gets, I am able to tend to and satisfy that fundamental need, a basic right and pleasure that I remember never to take for granted with every meal I get to eat

74.  A plethora of delicious phrases discovered in countless books that formed the odyssey through the year in other people’s words – and the unparalleled pleasure of this when it is freed from the impulse to catch, gather, echo, emulate or produce something of one’s own. I once was a writer, now I am free. The label and the identity no longer apply, so I am free to do and be as I wish. So now what?

75.  Lighting and smelling incense in the cabin

76.  Watching droplets of rain trickle down the door, revealing the vertical meanderings of the slugs and snails in the nighttime

77.  The simple pleasure of sitting, especially when it follows resistance

78.  Being well after being ill; the wisdom of forbearance that necessarily reveals itself after the passing of a moment of pain

79.  Seeing CMAT, Floating Points, Underworld, then LCD Soundsystem play live at Forwards Festival and having the absolute time of my life with incredible friends who love to get loaded and free

80.  The elation that came after my head cracked open and all the tears fell out of me, leaving me lighter and freer of the trauma of the past. How fucking good it feels to let go of everything

81.  Being called to attention by the sight and sound of swallows, house martins, ducks and crows undistracted by pointless human busy work

82.  Getting to hug Lama Justin goodbye after an incredible seven days in his wise, goofy, fierce and gentle company

83.  The succulent texture and taste of a persimmon, crunchable skin and sweet translucent orange flesh speckled with black flecks

84.  A whole tray of perfectly compact Pakistani mangoes, their yellow skin on the turn towards orange as they reached the perfect ripeness to enjoy in the summer time

85.  Being given the empowerments to practice with the wrathful Buddhist deities who for much of the year, embraced me with fierce love and transformed my rage into confidence, resolve, calm and composure.

86.  A shelf devoted almost entirely to the work and words of Thich Nhat Hanh, my root teacher, especially his book on ‘Silence’ at a time when I gladly embodied a devotion to the merits of the quiet life, because: “It’s not enough that you want to be free. You have to give yourself enough space and quiet to become free.”

87.  The same delicious breakfast with a burst of berries on dairy-free yoghurt topped with my mother’s homemade granola, every single day. Pure and simple joy

88.  Crinkle cut crisps

89.  Fresh vegetables from the plot: our first real glut of strawberries, a handful of blueberries, crunchy sprouts, purple broccoli, onions forever, leeks with the worms hiding in the layers and all, French beans, gooseberries, red and yellow raspberries, cucumbers forever tomatoes for days, basil forever.

90.  Witnessing the nectarines grow outside the kitchen window, even if they did fall too early before we got to taste them

91.  Blackbirds confidently trotting across the snow-kissed grassed on the hunt for mealy worms

92.  Kenny the cat’s morning visits as he called to ask for Milo to go out and play

93.  The return of my Japanese peace lily, which I thought had died after a misinformed attempt to care for it in the cabin. Glory to nature’s powers of resurrection

94.  Moisturiser

95.  The scent of sweet peas on a summer’s evening

96.  Eyes to see the sun rise and set

97.  Plant medicine

98.  Poetry

99.  Each new 24 hours

100.  The ability to breathe freely

Maybe you'll be inspired to compose your own list after reading. Do share your highlights if you wish in the comments.

'Til next time, may we turn our minds as often towards the sky beyond the clouds, as we do necessarily to the dirt and the muck through which we must invariably tread our path.

Warm wishes for whatever the next moments, days, months and year have in store, Aliya xx