It’s not where you start but where you finish that counts.
Zig Ziglar
Of all of the things I have to be thankful for this tumultuous year we’ve had in 2023, finally making it to this last day of the year in a much better place than I was a couple of weeks ago is probably one of the most meaningful.
It most certainly didn’t come easy but then nothing in this life worth experiencing really ever is.
I’m not going to sugarcoat it: this December of 2023 has been beyond brutal and two weeks ago I was feeling about as low and emotionally worn out as I have in many years.
For quite a while, the holiday season has had a very bittersweet feeling to it for me. Whilst I loved seeing my kids enjoying their holidays (and to be honest, that and a big hug has been the only gift I’ve ever really needed or wanted for quite a long while), there’s been a big shadow that’s been cast over my holiday season for the last eight years, in particular.
That alone has been enough to view the season as something to survive and endure.
Now add to that the fact that I had just dropped quite a bit of money I could ill afford to spend on a brand new expensive transmission on the Traverse just to have that new transmission fail completely within three days. Thankfully, it’s being replaced under warranty but that’s meant that it’s another few weeks of being dependent to be able to go and do what needs being done when I wish to do so.
That feeling of despair at having lost and being dependent for hard-won freedom and some semblance of control over my day-to-day activities was more than a little soul crushing.
In that moment, I finally truly understood what Londo Mollari was trying to say here:
Ambassador Londo Mollari : My shoes are too tight.
Vir Cotto : Excuse me?
Ambassador Londo Mollari : Something my father said. He was old, very old at the time. I went into his room, and he was sitting alone in the dark crying. So, I asked him what was wrong, and he said, “My shoes are too tight. But, it doesn’t matter, because I have forgotten how to dance.” I never understood what that meant until now. My shoes are too tight. And, I have forgotten how to dance.
Vir Cotto : I don’t understand.
Ambassador Londo Mollari : Nor should you.
My shoes had gotten too tight and I had forgotten how to dance.
And that’s why for the first time in many years, I had to give celebrating the holiday season a miss.
“The War Prayer” — Babylon 5
It’s not the first time I’ve felt like this and almost certainly it won’t be the last but in times like these, there’s only one way to find my way back to where I need to be.
I write.
Often, I write quite a bit.
The funny thing is that when I was in school, I utterly despised writing. Hated it with every fibre of my being. I found the prospect of writing anything to be at best tedious and at worst a complete waste of time.
Did you ever have to write out all of your notes for a paper on those wretched index cards? Then write out the bibliography and other bits of a paper on more those those index cards?
The process of going through all of that hassle and then do multiple drafts (which on a typewriter isn’t quite as fun or convenient as a word processing programme!) bid fair to suck every bit of life and joy out of me.
My writing’s Road to Damascus moment was the revelation that the teachers rarely if ever checked on the production of those cards allowed me to compose what would become the final draft at the keyboard of the word processor du jour and then reverse-engineer the cards if the teachers ever bothered to ask after them. Only one of many teachers ever did. 🙂
But the beauty of sitting down at the keyboard to just compose what may start out as a jumble of chaotic thoughts and feelings into the story that I want to tell is that I can move bits and pieces about, toss things that really don’t belong in the finished story into the virtual rubbish bin, and ultimately arrive at the end of the writing often in a better and hopefully more enlightened and wiser place than where I was when I started.
That was when writing became not only therapeutic but absolutely essential to what passes for my mental health.
It’s not always feelings of sadness or anguish that causes me to sit down at the keyboard and let the words and the raw emotions fly but when that’s the motivation, it’s a journey that I necessarily have to undertake alone.
Just me and whatever I’m writing about locked in mortal combat through the keyboard and screen and the harrowing maelstrom of thoughts and feelings until one of us emerges victorious.
Hopefully at the end of the process, I’m the one who does!
Life could not better be, better be, better be
It could not possibly, no sirrah, sirrah siree…
Which brings us to the plot, plot we got, quite a lot!
“Life Could Not Better Be” — “The Court Jester” by Danny Kaye
as it unfolds you’ll see . . .what starts like a scary tale . . . ends like a fairy tale . . .
and life couldn’t possibly better be!
Writing and desperately trying to find some measure of revelation is only part of what it takes to find my way out of the enveloping darkness.
When you’ve put over 50 years on the personal odometer, there’s plenty of scary tales one collects through that time.
I’ve certainly experienced my share of them.
Writing helps me release whatever rage and fear and any other negative emotions that might be floating round in my head in hopefully a more positive and productive way but finding bits of humour in a world that is trending more and more toward darkness, war and death is often the trigger that helps break through the foul feelings that are trying to drag me down to the abyss and never let me see the light again.
Curiously enough, it’s often the bits of unexpected humour in situations that shine through in the most delightful of ways.
There were certainly a couple of honourable mentions in this otherwise deplorable December:
- Driving Miguel’s truck with two Puerto Rican flags proudly flying and seeing a woman driving another car with a Puerto Rican flag and watching her eyes about bug out of her head.
- Trying to figure out the cause of weird alerts on three different iPhones only to be reminded my sister had belled our mother with an AirTag.
But what finally truly broke through the log-jam of negative emotions to the point where I could see the way back to where I need and want to be was Miguel and Jessica springing a most unexpected Christmas gift upon me. And yes, I told them that I didn’t need anything from them but when I saw it, I understood why they couldn’t resist getting it:
If I could have laughed my actual ass off, I’d be much more petite than I was before I saw it.
I’m pretty sure there are still and video of me with my head down over their marble island laughing maniacally. What you can’t see is the tears of joy from having finally seen the light that had eluded me for quite a while.
And since then, I still have some concerns about what 2024 may have in store but for the moment, I can remember how to dance and for now that will just have to do.
So that’s the “Urbi et Orbi” for 2023 in the can.
It’s been quite the journey with more than a few rather nasty switches and roundabouts but what I’ve come to appreciate is how fortunate I am for the people I have the privilege of knowing and are a cherished part of my life.
For those who I’ve done a bit of accountancy and nerding on their behalf, I appreciate your trust and custom far more than you will ever know and look forward to continuing in your service for the coming year and beyond as long as I have the breath of life in me.
For those who I call friends who are as precious to me as the family born to me, I would not wish to walk the trail without you.
And for those I have the privilege to love and who still haven’t run screaming into the night from all of my flaws and apprehensions and occasional detours into dark places, you are truly my immortality and a gift in my life well beyond the ability of words to express properly.
Indeed, all of these are the greatest gifts I have ever known. 🙂