A decade ago, I made a conscious decision to eschew the traditional New Year's Resolution (who actually ever follows through with their New Year's Resolution anyways??), and instead choose a theme for the year. My ‘themes' have often been derived from a mix of my current stage of life, as well as the social/cultural/professional/political context I find myself in at that time. One year my theme was Coda, a borrowed musical term meaning "an ending"; (not so) coincidentally this theme coincided with the conclusion of my long marriage. However, from this theme of endings and new beginnings, I grew a sense of confidence and agency that spurred a commitment of a year of doing things completely outside of my comfort zone, and thus began my journey of finding who I was again. In this year of "Coda" I was accepted into graduate school, I sought (and succeeded) a promotion at work, I traded in my comfortable and practical flats for heels, I took burlesque lessons (yes, Mother, we were clothed, and no, there was no ‘recital' at the end), I dated (and had fun... *winkwinknudgenudge*), I drank (and enjoyed) whiskey... In short, this process helped redefine who I was amidst this new context of who I needed to be. And it was glorious.

Bear with me as I switch gears a bit.

If we were to boil the development of modern human society down to its most salient points, we could say that it all started with a seed. Seeds turned into wheat, and after which, the invention of tools meant families that were previously nomadic, relying on the land for sustenance no longer, could settle in one location. Seeds and tools turned into farms and with it the concept of land ownership was borne. This then created the need for people to work the farms; thus, families grew larger, but so did the unforeseen consequences of doing so. Just like how our hunter-gatherer-come-agrarian-society ancestors noted thousands of years ago, change can occur insidiously, yet may have an indelible impact that can alter the course of humanity.

These larger families meant more mouths to feed, transpiring into a vicious circle of what has resulted in a perpetual quest of societal tail-chasing. Family settlements created communities, communities led to the development of transportation networks and thus cities were erected, infrastructure begetting infrastructure. For goods to be traded and pockets to be lined, trading networks were established, and as societies became simultaneously more static and yet more connected, figurative and literal borders were delineated. People began to realize that borders bring with them the uncertainty of difference. Suddenly, communities were no longer homogenous, safe in the predictability of knowing who your neighbour was and that their values and beliefs likely mirrored your own. Cultural differences suddenly became as obvious as signposts in the street, yet if someone were to ask you to describe your culture, it would be very difficult. Culture is often intangible and yet is inherent in our words, thoughts, and actions; humans themselves are physical archives of their culture, and it isn't until we are comparing ours to someone else's do these differences become obvious; the only differences between us are our differences. Culture is a byproduct of difference. Or is it the reverse: difference is a byproduct of culture.

As the heterogeneity of populations increased and distinct cultures emerged, they brought with them the concept of tolerance. Tolerance is a word often associated with ‘difference', as in someone being ‘tolerant of difference'. I recently heard a politician use the word tolerance to promote a message of greater social inclusivity in the wake of the societal changes the pandemic has brought about (our first shared global experience, yet it has created further divisiveness). But what does the word tolerance actually mean? Synonyms for tolerance include the words ‘resistance' and ‘toughness' or ‘endurance'. By definition the word tolerance means to have a permissive attitude towards something, an acceptable deviation from the norm. In medicine we use this word in relation to whether someone has the power to resist the action of a drug or foreign substance. In machinery, one could use this word in the context of whether the degree of variation in an object is acceptable for it to still function as intended. Tolerance insinuates going along with something despite not wanting to.

As humans, we are obsessed with ‘the other', and yet, paradoxically, we are also consumed with the search for human universals. We live in a world of 7.8 billion people that is more connected that it has ever been, yet at the same time, our capacity for mass cooperation has seemingly de-volved into a sense of pervasive and infectious individualism. Othering is when we label those that do not fit in with the fundamental definition of the social norm, and this stems from our inherent propensity as humans to categorize things into neat little columns: like/dislike; good/bad; yes/no; rich/poor; black/white; he/she. We love binaries, and we love to assign morality to cultural behaviours that may be different from our own. This is partly a residual survival mechanism leftover from our more primal days as hunter-gatherers, and partly ingrained in us through media outlets and politicians; a tool wielded for both good intentions and bad, and ever-increasingly employed for nationalistic purposes. Tolerant societies beget othering, and yet, aren't societies just a manifestation of cultural differences?

Palimpsest. A word that, before this week, I had never heard. It is a word that is as unfamiliar on the tongue as a foreign spice, and yet the beauty of this word lies in its meaning: "a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain; something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form" per the Oxford Dictionary. Depending on the context within which you are using the word, it could have both a negative or positive connotation, and I cannot help but see culture in society as a sort of palimpsest: something reused or altered, but still bearing traces of its earlier form. And yet, at what point in our collective history as human beings did culture become a risk factor to poorer outcomes? At what point did difference become synonymous with inequality?

This year, part of me, the pessimist, urges me to choose nihilism as this year's theme. If people continue to fail to see the beauty, the natural and organic chaos that cultural difference and diversity has brought to our societies, then life is rendered to nothing less than a mathematical equation: one became two, two became three... And yet, my inner-optimist admonishes such a bleak outlook on our collective existence.

In the end, I have chosen Window Seat as my theme for 2022; I am making a conscious decision that I will face this year with the sense of wonder and curiosity every kid has as they request the window seat on an airplane as a reminder to myself that the world is much bigger than my earthbound self.