This holiday season, I’d love to share an excerpt from a poem by T.S. Eliot that captures hope for the year ahead. Not greeting-card hope, but the kind of hope that can live alongside sadness, bewilderment and uncertainty.
Self-improvement is often no more than self-criticism in an alluring outfit. Our culture focuses obsessively on the endless allure of improvement, but there’s a much more thrilling area of inquiry: What parts of ourselves are aching for expression, and why do we flee their heat?