Another Trip Around the Sun

One year older; maybe one year wiser. One year more tired and in some ways sadder.

And in some ways, happier.

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I’ve been trying to sort out my thoughts of the past year (really, fourteen or fifteen months) basically since its beginning. So much has happened. Even just focusing on the pandemic, there’s too much to put plainly or politely. If you’ve had an in-person conversation with me about 2020 and ongoing, chances are I’ve used a few choice words, probably more than a few times.

Here’s the thing. I have been angry this entire time. Very long and detailed stories short, as a person who was (and still is in some ways) high risk for severe health problems and death if I were to catch Covid-19, most of the last year plus I have felt reduced to a statistic that no one truly cares about. That’s plenty to make someone angry for a continuous time.

I’ve been watching since March 2020. Since February 2020, really, before we knew what was going on and before we knew for sure it had reached my state. Trust me, I saw the social media posts with unmasked gatherings and claims that the pandemic was fake. I also researched to find out what my risks were and who had done the research behind the fact-finding. Yes, ultimately we can only control ourselves, but what people who gave me that advice maybe didn’t consider is that I was doing just that so I could make the best choice for myself when I was forced to be around others who made choices that could endanger my life.

Yes, we control only ourselves. But that doesn’t mean we live in a vacuum or that our choices can’t hurt others.

So when others made choices that could easily hurt (or kill) me, I took note.

Hence the anger, hence the tiredness. And so much sadness, frustration, and disappointment.

I was watching.

Yes, we control only ourselves. But that doesn’t mean we live in a vacuum or that our choices can’t hurt others.

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This is something that is on one hand easy for me to talk about. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself over the years. Sometimes I come across as brash, but I know what I need and I know from experience and a lifetime of hedge words that “nice” words won’t always be heard.

For many reasons, whenever I have anger I think that makes me a terrible person. Truth is, most of the time when I’m angry I try extra hard to control my words. Doesn’t mean I won’t curse, but it does mean I will focus on not being cruel or misunderstood. (If I’ve lost that control, y’all, I’m effin’ pissed and you won’t see me much angrier ever.) I check myself a lot and I ask others who know me well to check me.

So, on the other hand, talking about my experiences during the pandemic — which is not yet over, sad but true, which means I’m still watching — is difficult. Hedge words are my sarcasm. And sometimes they are my hedge words. Makes it a bit hard to be clear, doesn’t it?

Half the time, I don’t expect to be understood. That probably doesn’t give enough credit to the people I’m talking with. True, sometimes I’m not. But sometimes I am, and deeply so. And that leads me to the happier part of this post.

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The people who get it, who love me so much, and who have listened to me for this past year and longer…they have given me something that makes me feel six feet tall.

I am six feet tall.

But I don’t usually feel that big, or that it’s okay to take up that much space.

Instead of feeling like a giant goddess, elegant and important and regally imposing, I usually feel like an intimidated shrimp. Easy to brush aside, easy to ignore.

Feeling small and unwanted makes for a pretty awkward way to travel through life when you are taller than average for most other women and a good percentage of men.

But, and this is the most beautiful part of this entire past year for me personally: this past weekend, celebrating my completion of thirty-three times around the sun with sweet family and dear friends, I felt rich with life and love, valued for who I am and my experiences, and wanted for my presence.

I didn’t just feel six feet tall.

I felt infinite.

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So, once more around the sun. Older, maybe wiser. Tired, yes, and with new sadness. And so much love.

Oh, so much love.

How do you sort out the thoughts?

I have a number of thoughts bouncing in my head, I’m too scared to write them down.

Why?

Because, they’re going to be messy. They’re going to need editing, and a lot of hardcore examining. Some, many probably, won’t make it to the blog. A lot of them probably don’t need to. And others aren’t going to get enough polishing before I put them before others. Because that’s not always possible. Life is messy and I’m still very much figuring out my way as I go. But I need to deal with them, and that’s going to be…a challenge.

Is it true? Is it mine to say? Is it helpful, insightful, or basically anything good? Is it going to make others angry (for example, by calling them out), and am I willing to deal with the consequences?

Do I want to be controversial?

No. No, not really. Never did.

I was always the “good girl” who burst into tears when I was told I had been mean or done something wrong. I burst into tears because the idea of me being mean to someone broke my little child heart.

Then I was questioned, mostly indirectly, for being manipulative.

Y’all, I didn’t know what to do with that, and it still affects me today. So I stay silent.

Outwardly, anyway.

To some.

To many.

…

But it doesn’t help to have all this unsorted noise in my head, either.

I don’t want normal.

I don’t want normal. I want good.

When a racial hate crime, resulting in the deaths of nine souls, occurred a block from my workplace at the time; when I was diagnosed with Type 1; when relationships ended or changed; when protests renewed; when racist statues finally came down…and when responses to a global pandemic were not handled even half as well as they could have been in my own home country…all of these required finding that catch phrase “new normal.”

Anything can be normal if it perpetuates long and far and deep enough. “Normal” doesn’t mean it’s good. 

What we had pre-Covid-19 pandemic was normal. 

Quite a lot of it wasn’t good.

I want good.

I buck against the phrasing for looking or wishing for things to “go back to normal.” I do. I hope it doesn’t cost me to say this, but I am here even if it does. I want a re-framing on this. I want a deeper understanding to be more widespread. Let’s be more careful with our word choices.

The “normal” we had was not desirable for so many, and it was, and still is now, so harmful for so many.

Let’s drop the use of the word “normal” for this. Let’s not “go back to normal” or even “find a new normal” in this, as that “new normal” will by nature drift back towards as close to what we had as is possible to manage. Instead let’s “improve,” or “find something better,” or “work forward.” Let’s “work toward good.” Or something like that. I don’t have the exact phrasing we need. But “normal” is not the right word.

Normal can be anything.

Normal where I grew up was rationing lawn care water every summer. Normal where I live now is downtown flooding with every rain, or even just every high tide.

Neither of those are particularly good. But they are both very normal.

Normal? I’m done with normal.

If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t miss it so much

Sadness is a daily reality. Sometimes it’s godawful overwhelming, and sometimes it’s a tinge that flavors life.

It’s a season of loss for me. Loss of my baby — the Old Man Baby Cat, my orange floof of love. Loss of certain experiences, gathering in person with friends and getting hugs, drumming together, high-fiving coworkers.

I’ve been very fortunate to be able to stay home at this time, our effort to keep not only ourselves safe but to prevent being carriers of the Covid-19 coronavirus to others. We’ve been home since March 15, ironically an anniversary day of ours so it’s easier to remember.

It’s now May.

In that time we have left our neighborhood once, for a medical need, and otherwise have been finding our patterns and working on our physical, emotional, and mental health from home. Trying to be of help to others from a distance, as well, but…it’s a time of sadness, which can make it harder to help.

Grief and mourning are never far from my heart these days. I think about loss a lot. I try to think about how to handle it, how to prepare for the upcoming days this month that I know are going to be in that overwhelming hurt category. I’m never very far from crying or tearing up.

But there is also still good. As the Eleventh Doctor said, Life is a pile of good things and bad. Neither one makes the other invalid. Just right now the good things keep having that taste of bittersweet.

Seeing friends via video chats (and learning tips on how to deal with that unique stressor factor…seeing oneself or constantly being aware of what you look like is awkward at best) is a wonderful time. And oddly sad.

But the sad doesn’t negate the glad.

It’s a mix.

And I will take the mix and having the good reminders and sweet times with friends over complete isolation or just bad.

But I guess I’m trying to say, I also need to sit with the sadness. Let it be there. It is present. I acknowledge it.

Somehow that makes it hurt just a little less.

I accept it. It is my companion. It’s not really there for my harm. It shows me what I value and what is dear to me.

That actually shows me something good about myself.

 

 

May is National Mental Health Month. This article from The Guardian has some insights, tips, and links to resources for dealing with mental health needs during this time of physical distancing, including a link to the Crisis Text Line (at https://www.crisistextline.org/). Please know you are not alone.