Now What?
If my life was like a movie then this New Year and decade would have been ushered in with some fanfare. Well, my version of it anyway. There would have been a bonfire, good food, great friends, and close family. There would have been lots of hugs and riotous laughter. I can see it all play out in my mind. But my life is not like a feel good movie. Sometimes it resembles a witty sitcom. Other times it can be quite tragic. Truthfully most of the times it seems more like an overplayed rerun of According to Jim. Now don’t misunderstand me; I am not complaining. It is merely reality - the plateau between the highs and lows that make up life for most of us. So I am seeking neither sympathy nor pity when I tell you my New Year’s Eve was spent quarantined in my house with my kids and husband because all of us were sick with Strep throat. Yes, a NYE when my husband of 18 years was actually home and not patrolling Time Square, and we were struggling to stay awake while binge watching The Witcher on Netflix. Happy *bleeping* New Year!
However, the truth is I was more than a little disappointed. It has been years since I’ve partaken in any sort of NYE revelry and although I have no want for the celebrations of my youth I would have loved to be part of a larger gathering. We were actually invited to a neighbor’s home for some festivities and fireworks with her family and friends. Of course, I had to decline. I didn’t want to be patient zero of a mass Strep outbreak. And so with my disappointment stuffed way down deep inside and with zero desire to even attempt a cheerier atmosphere at home I accepted my spot on the couch under the fleece blanket.
I know! I know! This is some first world problem stuff. Poor Steph didn’t get her movie perfect NYE. She had to suffer in her warm house with her husband and kids and watch a shirtless Henry Cavill play a mutated monster hunter. I felt silly about being so petty. I am typically not like that. I’m the one who is counting blessings, seeing the bright side, and going with the flow. However, I knew that this unease was being caused by something much greater than a dud of a NYE. I just had to sit with the discomfort long enough to dissect it.
So on January 1 I sat down at the kitchen table, opened up my laptop, and went straight to my website to read last year’s New Year’s post because I’ve learned that sometimes a little retrospection can help clarify the current situation. I’d be lying to both you and myself if I said that I wasn’t just a smidge depressed, the tiniest bit anxious, and a whole lot of stressed during 2019. I reread the post several times and realized that although what I wrote was true it was only part of the whole truth. Certainly, I didn’t intend to deceive anyone especially myself but I’m sure we all now realize that my optimism and “can do” attitude portrayed in that post were on some days more the exception than the rule. Of course, I did accomplish what I set out to do. I settled Dad’s estate, had the Maple cut down, and started tackling my own cluttered home. I did not return to work (fortunately it is a choice) because my full time job became making sense of papers, filing taxes, organizing, making phone calls, sending faxes, becoming buddies with my realtor, dad’s lawyer, and the bank notary, and hustling to make sure everyone got everything they were due. It was exhausting. If you know me personally or you have read my blog you should have an inkling as to what makes me thrive and I’m sure everything I just mentioned doesn’t make it on to the list. But, I had a task at hand and I didn’t want the responsibility following me around for years so I kept at it when I’d rather be riding my horse or going for a hike. Then finally on a beautiful day in October I was finally finished (well with the really important stuff anyway) and instead of feeling accomplished I felt sad.
It was as though for the first time in ten months I allowed myself to breath and with that first big exhale came a flood of emotions that had been trapped deep inside me. I sat holding bank checks for all five of my father’s children and it dawned on me that he was gone, our childhood home would not be open to us and my connections to some of my siblings might be weakened because of it. Where would we all gather – us and our children – now that the only house that could accommodate all of us was sold to a man who intended on gutting it? I singlehandedly managed to undo in less than a year a life my father spent decades building. I was crushed, caught unaware in a tangle of emotions, now that I was without the purpose that had been my driving force for four years.
Some days I’d wake up feeling nothing but relief over a job well done. Other days I’d wander about not knowing what to do with my free time. I know that sounds silly coming from someone who has children, animals, and an endless list of chores, but it’s true. My sense of purpose was replaced with a palpable anxiety because I was no longer responsible for Dad’s wellbeing or final wishes. Fortunately, the end of the calendar year is also the beginning of the school year so between handling an unmotivated freshman and an overzealous second grader plus the excitement of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Yule I had outlets for all my undirected energy and the fall blended somewhat seamlessly into winter. But distraction isn’t the same as purpose and it certainly does not leave one feeling fulfilled. I’ve been thinking for many months now that there is something missing from my life but it wasn’t until recently that I could fully acknowledge and define it.
This is where I go back to last year’s post and realize what I miss, besides feeling purposeful, is the social aspect of spending so much time with Dad. Every week I was guaranteed a long visit and a good conversation not just with him but with his friends that visited, doctors, nurses, and other family members. Our Sunday visits gave my children time to interact with family members that they normally wouldn’t see. I liked being with everyone in this “We love Frank” club. I loved that we all cared about his comfort and listened to his stories and rolled our eyes at his crankiness. I appreciated the network of support that was available to me. What I never planned on was that the end of Dad’s life would mean our exclusive club would be dissolved.
That being acknowledged I can now honestly define what’s been missing. I’m missing community and connection (I even touched on this in September’s post Spider Web). I’m not talking about family members who love me out of obligation or neighbors who are friendly because of proximity and convenience. I’m talking about people in my life that get me and value what I have to offer. I do have some wonderful tried and true friends but it seems everyone is so busy with work and kids or they are just too far away. I also have a monthly breakfast club with a few neighbors and I happily look forward to that single Sunday every month. I bring a basket of fresh eggs and baked goods to share and our rag tag group ranging from ages 7 to 85 always enjoys lively conversation over good food. I’m saying that I don’t want any more superficial friendships like the ones that form because my kid is friends with someone else’s kid. I’m not against it but I’ve learned that usually the friendship flame dwindles when the kids outgrow each other. I want the kind of friendships that allow for conversations beyond kids and complaining. I don’t mind lending a listening ear but I also want real talk involving hopes, dreams, creativity, and enlightenment. I feel like I am asking for far too much from the community in which I live. Every time I try to connect with someone beyond niceties and “how ya doin” I am rejected. Well, not rejected as much as not fully embraced. It’s the age old problem of trying to make new friends as an adult. Everyone has their set group and limited time so there is no place for someone new. No wonder why I listen to so many podcasts. I have a variety of great conversations right at my fingertips.
Wow! That was quite the rabbit hole I wandered down. But I’m in a better place for it. I understand that my NYE disappointment really had nothing to do with lack of fanfare. Honestly, I never really cared about the day nor do I make resolutions. I know my discontent had everything to do with what I feel is missing in my life – a greater purpose and meaningful connections. This realization is both exciting and frightening because I am finally in the position to pursue my interests but I also have no excuses not to do what I say I’m going to do. The only person I have to be held accountable to is me but I’m not sure if I can hold myself accountable. This is where having passionate people (other than podcast hosts) in my life might come in handy. My mind races with thoughts of possibilities of what I can do with my time and who I can meet. So that’s it! I figured out what I will do for the next 11 and ¾ months. I will use my resolve not for tending to someone else’s agenda (no disrespect Dad) but I will use it to determine what’s next for me. The list of possibilities is long but I’ll eventually figure it out. After all I wondered my way down this path and I’ll just keep on wondering until I find my purpose and community. It won't happen over night. Nothing worthwhile ever does but I now have the freedom and ability to explore my options. If you can relate or have any suggestions or advice I'd love to hear from you. Happy 2020!
