I’m sorry my last few posts have been so heavy, but it’s
been a heavy couple of months. And
what have I learned from these months?
Too much. That growing up
sucks. That a hot bath and a bottle
glass of wine can temporary relieve anything. That family supersedes everything. That life can be unfair. That bad things happen to good people. That keeping busy is a great way to
move on but it takes time and space (and vodka) to truly heal. And that bad television is a great distraction from real
life.
One of the hardest lessons to learn in life is that you
can’t avoid living it. It. Life. You gotta wake up every day and do it, no matter how
impossible that feels. And
sometimes, despite your best efforts to be a good person, to look both ways
before you cross the road, and to pay your taxes, shit happens. It just does. And when it does, you have two main choices: crumble or live
through it.
The good news is that most of the time, when you choose to
live through it, you learn an awful lot about yourself. And the people around you. And on the occasion that you choose to
crumble (which doesn’t necessarily guarantee tragedy), you still learn
something about yourself. And the
people around you. Because that’s
the way it works. It. Life.
Sometimes you get these feelings in your gut. The ones that dictate what you do and
don’t do. Not because they’re
logical, or calculated, although sometimes they are, but because they feel
right or they taste good or they look nice on your feet. And sometimes the choices aren’t great
choices, but they’re choices nonetheless.
And under most circumstances, we all survive. Good choices and bad choices. The sun still rises the next day. And it generally works out, even if it
doesn’t seem so just yet. Even if
what happens is the last thing we’d ever thought might work. Cliché though it may be, we emerge on
the other side of things stronger, wiser, and perhaps with better judgment. Bruises, cuts, and all. Better jokes. Longer stories.
More poignant punch lines.
And when we’re in the middle of the storm, it’s hard to keep
perspective on how we’re ever going to come out of it. Or when. Or in what shape.
But we forge forward with the faith that we’re strong enough to take
it. Knowing we’re strong enough to
survive. Even if we don’t entirely
believe it. Even if we doubt
it. Because what else are we going
to do? What other choices do we
really have? We wake up and do the
damn thing.
And eventually, one day, out of nowhere, it’s over. The hurricane goes to sea. Our heart stops aching. Or the worry goes away. Or the grief dissipates. The virus dies. The symptoms disappear. The cancer is gone. The bad people eventually stop knocking
on the door.
Because that what it means to live. That’s what it means to be real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit. If you’re real, and you’re human, it
can’t always be easy. It can’t
always work out just right. Sometimes you gotta get all your fur loved off and get shabby
in your joints. Because that’s
what life, and love, will do to you. And I suppose you haven’t really been living if you haven’t
had the breath knocked out of you yet.
Lately, I’ve been convincing myself that your mid- to
late-twenties must be simultaneously the best and the worst years of life. And perhaps also the most confusing. Which
of course is easy for me to postulate because these are the only years I’ve
lived through so far, and they’re by and large the hardest and most confusing
years I’ve yet to live (that I can remember, let alone intellectualize). For every amazing, awesome,
life-changing thing that happens something equally devastating, unexplainable,
and gut wrenching seems to happen.
A constant yin and yang of joy and sadness. But I suppose this “with the good comes the bad” thing is
fundamental to life; is universal for all people, of all ages.
And though it has felt like the whole world is against me,
and my people, I remain hopeful. Because I have to. I have no choice. I still wake up each day thankful for the breath in my lungs and the
carpet at my feet (even if I'd rather it was hardwood and hand-tufted wool rugs). I continue to be humbled by the opportunities I have to do the things I’ve been granted the freedom to
do everyday. That I have a job I
love. Students who keep me balanced,
mindful, and hip (mostly). Family
who loves me unconditionally.
Friends who support me. Experiences that root me. And a dog who thinks everything I do is amazing. And always right, no matter what.
The best part about life is that each day is a brand new
day. Which isn't always easy to remember. But everyday is a new chance to fix something
that isn’t working. A new sunrise
to wash out whatever mistakes might have been made in the dark. A new opportunity to reflect on where
we’ve been, where we’ve come from, and where we’re going.
To keep on, keepin' on. Because what else are we going to do? What other choices do we really have? We wake up and do the damn thing. And if we're lucky, we blog about it later.
