Warning there is use of vulgar language because I use it to show examples and set premise.
I love structure. As much as I try to be hip and flexible, to just go with the goddamn flow, I’m wired differently. I like routines, schedules, and knowing what’s coming down the pipeline. I get the same thrill from new planners that I do from old books.
About the eighth month of the lockdown, I started looking at the other side of my personality pendulum and things started looking really intriguing. I was an introvert who would avoid groups, a secluded bookworm who wanted group movie nights, and a homebody who wanted to be a wild child. The ‘as-long-as-everyone’s-happy’ person and the ‘never-say-no-to-an-authority-figure’ child didn’t live here in the eighth month of lockdown (Sidenote: she has still not returned) Brutal honesty all the way.
Being out of practice with standing up for my needs, it wasn’t pretty. Picture if you will for a moment a toddler who just overheard a parent say “motherfucker” and is now jovially repeating it everywhere. Burned bridges barely held together due to my complacency. Blew up foundations. Exposed creepy-crawlies under the rocks then sat in the mud muttering to myself ‘who cares? the world is on fire.’ Family, friends, acquaintances, internet peeps, didn’t matter: they all got the most wishy-washy, wobbliest version of myself I’ve ever been.
Sometimes change can be a fickle visitor blowing in and out like an ocean breeze. 2020 was NOT one of those times.
About two weeks ago I decided to look back and re-read some of my older pieces and I couldn’t connect with what I had written. I remembered writing the words, thinking those opinions, but they weren’t me… at least they weren’t me anymore. As I read these pieces I felt a confused fondness like I’d feel for a stranger. As if the lockdown illuminated the-whole-and-real-person and showed that I’d been suppressing far too much of her. Reading back through them and comparing my writings from 2020 was like have a weird conversation between two people who remembered the same events very differently/
On and on it went. Without my writings, I don’t think that I’d have realized how drastically my worldview and perspective have changed while living through Groundhog Day (good movie, imo) monotony. The big hearted compassion is still there. The grace is still there. The feistiness of going to bat for the underdog is still there. I’ve simply learned to extend and demand those things for myself as well.
The world is still on fire. Life as I know it is still short and fleeting. I am still struggling with some of the same apprehensions. I’ve still got a few of the same longings. There’s no wrong way through feeling trapped in a rut you didn’t even make. No shame here if you’re burnt out, sick and tired, stretching for a small amount of “pandemic normalcy” with warmer weather.
Some days, you find all the beauty you can carry in your hands and hoard the happiness in your pockets. You hit all your goals, get a speck of novelty, or make your own adventure. Other days, you’ll ding through another day of fatigue and self doubt, thinking that “nothing’s changed.”
Yet, you have. You’ve changed.
You learned that you are not as strong as you think and stronger than you ever imagined. You’ve learned to cherish the people you needed during a certain version of yourself and let them go when they wanted to leave. You’ve learned that love comes in multiple ways, and you’ll miss it under your nose if you’re constantly chasing the horizon.
You’ve imagined and daydreamed countless worlds and acted to make your corner of this beat up country a little bit better than you found it. You’ve imagined the possibilities of everyone feeling safe enough to relax their fists. You’ve daydreamed about a country where every person is safe, seen, and loved.
2020 was a barefooted-untouched luggage-unfilled yearning-slow soil growth-waiting wanderlust year. 2021 might be a little different but don’t lose the stillness. The good bits of the various versions of yourself. That human ability to mourn huge losses and celebrate small wins. The recognition that the lights will come back on, and the lows won’t stick around forever.
You’ve marveled at the creative problem solving of your neighbors. You’ve mourned countless dead and those who are dying. You’ve made so much progress just by accepting that personal progress isn’t linear and hustle culture progress isn’t an urgent priority.
Everything changes eventually. Even and especially you change. Believe it or not, change may be a crazy chick, but she has the best of intentions.