Field Notes on Flourishing is a monthly love letter exploring art, mindfulness, creativity, and the question of flourishing — by Ludi Leiva.
As I write, it’s golden hour, around six in the evening on December 31.
The sky is a pale blue and the late evening sun has lit up the buildings on my street and tinged them a soft orange. There is something strange and beautiful about this moment every year—it’s as if the whole world is collectively holding its breath, preparing to say goodbye to the year that has passed, and whispering silent prayers for the one that will soon begin. May this one be brighter, may this one be better.
This year has been a difficult one for the world, but also for me personally. It was a year of many endings and beginnings, as I suppose most years are. But it has been filled with a lot of uncertainty, doubt, loss, grief, and feelings of aimlessness. Those feelings have been magnified for me in the last couple of days as I have reflected on what the last twelve months have held for me, and what I hope will be different in the next twelve.
As you might have noticed, there was no December Field Notes. With everything going on in occupied Palestine, I was already feeling overwhelmed, heavy, and lost. And then my abuelita fell ill. Within one agonizing week, she was gone. Just like that, my last grandparent, the indisputable matriarch of my family, disappeared from this physical world, and I wasn’t able to make it to Guatemala to say goodbye. I am still mourning this immense loss, but at the time the grief was too large for me to bring myself to write anything.
I have spent a lot of time reflecting on life and death in the past couple of months, both in the literal sense, but also in many other figurative senses. I have thought a lot about the things in my life that make me feel more alive, and the things that seem to kill off parts of me. I’ve thought about the things that I know I must cherish and nurture and the many things that I need to release.
When I started this newsletter in the late summer of 2022, I hoped to rekindle the writing practice I had lost touch with while simultaneously creating an online space that felt more nurturing, inspiring, and fulfilling than the social media spaces that brought more weariness than joy into my life. In the last months, I have gotten a lot out of this space and learned a lot in the process of writing these newsletters. I have cherished the opportunity to connect with you, my readers, and I deeply appreciate every one of you who reads my words each month, particularly those of you who became paid subscribers and who have taken the time to respond to and share my work.
Everything has its season, and I’ve realized that this next one requires my attention in many areas of my life that I have been neglecting. I need to water and revive seeds that I planted and forgot about, and I need to plant and tend to new ones. As such, I’ve decided to take an indefinite pause from Field Notes on Flourishing and redirect my energy elsewhere. I plan to send out newsletters on an ad-hoc basis in the future, but whether they will take the form of Field Notes or another project or container remains to be seen. Either way, I hope you’ll stick around to see what lies a bit further ahead. In the meantime, don’t be a stranger. If you’d like to stay connected I’ll still post on Instagram once in a while, particularly about new work, exhibitions, and other updates. I’m also always reachable by email: ludi@ludileiva.com.
As a meditative practice, I created an are.na channel that attempts to capture some of the things I am feeling right now and hoping for the future. It is a prayer of sorts; I hope you'll find something in it that inspires or moves you. I’ve embedded a small preview below—you can see the whole thing here.
By the time this hits your inbox, it will be a brand new day, a brand new week, and a brand new year. So here’s a toast to you:
May 2024 be filled with belly laughs, new discoveries, and big dreams. May you find out new things about yourself that surprise and delight you. May you build deeper connections with those around you and, perhaps most importantly, with yourself. May you find new opportunities to experiment, to fail, to grow, and to fearlessly express yourself. May you release the things that no longer serve you. May you forgive others and yourself, and may you find ways to love more fiercely than ever before.
May this one be brighter, may this one be better.
I hope to meet you again further along the road.
xo, L
Thank you. It has been a pleasure to read your notes. But we all the time need to rearrange our energy. Good luck with that and everything else.