It’s closing in on resolution time, an activity I’ve participated in before, but admittedly with the same zeal I reserved for trying to master parallel parking. But this year is going to be different – I’m going to make a resolution and document my progress for ill or will.
Oh there are ever so many topics I could throw on a list ranging from the crowd favorite of losing twenty pounds, to having my hair professionally done instead of going with whatever shade is in the Walgreen’s discount bin, to vowing to eat 25% less things that include the ingredient of cheez. All of these things would be a good start, but I think I want to tackle the broad based resolution to just try to be less miserable.
Yeah, I’m miserable. On the surface I shouldn’t be miserable – I’m engaged to a man I love, who loves me. My kid is doing great and has found a loving, supportive partner. I have a little girl in my life that I love and helping raise. I have steady employment. My finances are rickety but not in a dire state. My health is relatively good. Yeah, but for some reason I sit here at fifty less sure of myself than I was when I was nineteen. I am determined to unravel whatever knotted necklace chain has wedged itself in my brain.
I’ve done a lot of soul searching in the past couple of months, and have come to the conclusion that this is probably a product of grief. When that clanged into my head it made so much sense that I can’t ignore it, though it seems strange to me that grief could stretch out in such a profound way for this long. I harken from a long line of family invested in the principle of “if you think it hurts today, just wait until tomorrow,” I guess my tomorrow was just a super long day away. So that has left me at the corner of letting myself off too easy and giving myself a break. Which curb should I tiptoe on? I worry about beating myself up in the same measure that I worry that I’m a horrible person. Reflectively I’m pretty sure I’m not too horrible, I do take care of a lot of people and I don’t feel like I take from anyone too badly – but in the past few years I have let people down. Four years ago I felt like my life caught on fire, I suppose as I fled the building as the flames licked at my feet, that some things were going to get lost, or at least singed. What’s put me in a state is I don’t think I could have done things differently. I did, and am doing the best that I know how to right now. Maybe I just need to learn stuff, so that’s what I’m going to do, learn stuff. And then tell you about it. Oh, I can feel your excitement.
If you’ve gone through something similar, please let me know. If you have a suggestion of what I should investigate, please let me know. All advice will be appreciated.
[BTW: I have also made the promise to myself to try to start doing the things that make me happy. One is photography, so I’ll be posting some photos from time to time. The other is writing. Mom started “writing” (yes, that’s in quotes. Mom’s writing tends to be partial words scribbled on napkins and church bulletins that she hands to me and requests that I “fluff that out”) in a group that uses writing prompts. I’ve written a bunch of junk using this prompt generator. It’s fun. I’ve never published a story written from this exercise, but I’m going to force myself to do so now (lucky you). I will warn you that what you’ve clicked on is Autobiofictional. It’s the least I can do.]
Written by
Deven McKay
Trying to figure out how to start over when I’m missing a few game pieces.
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