To 2025

I recently stumbled across the written correspondence of Vincent Van Gogh and his younger brother Theo Van Gogh, which is well preserved apparently. I read numerous letters that Vincent wrote to Theo from the years 1880 to 1883. Ever since I first saw an exhibit of his work at the Biltmore in 2020, I've had a certain fascination with Van Gogh, particularly by the way his work became increasingly dark and disillusioned as his mental health declined over the course of his life. In reading the correspondence to his brother, which would have been intimate and honest, I feel a particular empathy and relatability to the busyness of his mind, which clearly caused him angst and separation from society and loved ones. He was brilliant and it was that brilliance which was both the cause of his legacy and his demise.

Dostoevsky summarized this phenomenon in Crime and Punishment, "Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth." I certainly don't claim to be of 'large intelligence' or to experience 'great sadness', but I do draw correlation, in my own life, of deep thinking with psychological discomfort and occasional isolation. 

The second half of 2025 was a time of such correlation for me. The combination of a dramatically increased workload and significant changes interpersonally, caused fatigue and loneliness within me. And as the Desiderata aptly states; "many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness." Concordantly, this was in and around my 30th birthday, which itself was a catalyst of deep contemplation. 

In a letter to his brother Theo, dated February 8th 1883, Vincent Van Gogh wrote the following words: "Sometimes I cannot believe that I am only thirty years old, I feel so much older. The age of thirty is, for the working man, just the beginning of a period of some stability, and as such, one feels young and full of energy. But at the same time, a phase of life is past. This makes one melancholy, thinking some things will never come back. And it is no silly sentimentalism to feel a certain regret. Well, many things really begin at the age of thirty, and certainly all is not over then. But one doesn't expect out of life what one has already learned that it cannot give, but rather one begins to see more and more clearly that life is only a king of sowing time, and the harvest is not here."

I could not have penned a truer expression of my feelings than this. This dichotomy of feeling older, with its melancholy and sentimentalism for a time now passed, contrasted with feeling energized at the prospect of stability and new beginnings, is perfectly articulated. I have seen in myself this year, a shift, in the softness of my heart. I feel now that many parts of me which were once tender, have faded away, replaced by an even more aggressive metronome of intrinsic drive. This shift, from Feeling to Thinking was poignant. As it turns out, the energy needed to think, to achieve, to do, depletes the reservoirs needed to feel, to create, to pacify. However, there is a consolation, and it is what Van Gogh alludes to in his final sentence, "life is only a king of sowing time, and the harvest is not here."

I followed a very deep intuition this year, for combatting fatigue and loneliness, for dealing with the passage of time and the uncertainty of the future - immersing myself in the revivifying, salvific, and calming presence of God. "Do not be afraid," - the most commonly repeated phrase in the Bible, was center of my mind this year. The Catholic Mass, the works of Bishop Barron, of Father Spyridon, a practice of nightly prayer, and sacraments I'd not attended to in a decade, proved their strength and prophylaxis for preventing the slip into darkness. This life is truly only a sowing time, and salvation is the harvest found in the next life. Achieving peace with this notion delivered peace into my heart. And thus, it allowed me to see the positive side of Van Gogh's sentiment, "many things really begin at the age of thirty, and certainly all is not over then."

2025 for me felt like a year of stasis relative to the movements of others. But in truth, it was a year of sowing. A year of hard work and deep contemplation. Despite my misgivings with it, I imagine there will come a time in the future where I will yearn for stasis. For the Friday night concerts at The Music Yard. For the Saturday afternoon Pickleball sessions. For the Sunday morning drives to church. Things are changing, and things have changed, forever. But it's as the Desiderata says, "gracefully surrender the things of youth."

As with each year, I am increasingly grateful for the life I live, despite my frustrations at its limitations and with my ability to control every outcome. I am especially grateful for wisdom, which comes from experience and providence. I am grateful for the steady hand of God, for the undeserved grace I receive when I stray from the path. I'm grateful for those who love me, even when I am difficult, cold, or unreciprocal. And in a very real way, I am grateful for the sentimentality and melancholy of a time now passed, because despite the painfulness, it reveals to me the depth and enjoyment of my life up to this point. 

So, as I enter 2026, I pray the prayer of my Grandfather, because it is as relevant today for me as it was for him 50 years ago; "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."