Non-striving
Today, I sat, uncomfortably, in a dentist chair with my coat on. I didn’t feel like hanging it up anywhere; I opted to hang onto the security of having it close to my body. I don’t ever feel like talking when I’m there. Conversations seem forced and I don’t appreciate anyone speaking to me when they’re poking and prodding in my mouth. I had been kicking this appointment down the calendar since March. So, of course, on the last day of the month, with 2 hours to spare in their schedules, I arrived for my 6 month (now more like 13 month) cleaning.
Before we got into it, the hygienist made small talk about the holidays and what I was planning for New Years. “Oh, well, Christmas sucked, but we made the best of it,” I thought to myself. “No, don’t say that. Don’t set this tone,” I quickly followed the last thought. Then, as if the air was sliced with a sword, the hygienist says:
“Well, I can’t wait for 2020 to be over.”
I nodded in agreement. Which made me more uncomfortable because I didn’t agree with that. I actually firmly disagree with her statement. I am thankful for all that 2020 offered. Sounds crazy, yes? Maybe, but I’ll tell you why I’m thankful.
I started the year as always - with an intention in which I’d build my vision. My intention is usually one word. After enough contemplation, the word “vulnerability” was penned on my paper. The idea of vulnerability meant so much to me. I had been shielding myself because of near crippling fear; I needed to remove the metaphorical cloak and just go for it. Go for what? I wasn’t quite sure. I wasn’t sure because i purposefully ignored my deep rooted fears. I needed to walk into the fear and the uncertainty; I needed to embrace external criticism and observe the criticism of self. I also had big race plans, and business ventures. Things were slowly aligning.
Then we got fucked. All of us. A pandemic destroyed plans and lives; it ripped apart our social networks and highlighted all the shit that we’re too lazy to fix, too tired to care about, or things we lost interest in preserving. I started to fall down that gurgling drain, too. I tried to keep it together for too long - beyond the pandemic - for years, actually. Like the community breakdowns, I broke down too. The little cracks felt like crevices; crevices felt like the abyss. I felt chained to my home; locked and loaded to my desk. I didn’t want to lean into the newly discovered fear that my family would get sick, I’d lose my partner, I’d have to lay people off, or I’d lose my job; all the while, I ran away with those fears. I just didn’t get to the root of those fears. I just let them pull me down with the ease in which the bourbon rolled off my tongue.
All this time, though, I reminded myself of the word “survival” and the words “survival of the fittest”. I started to say
“This is what I’ve been training for.”
i was training for an apocalyptic moment of sorts. “Cardio,” right? Isn’t that the first rule? I had always continued to train. That kept me distracted for a while, until I realized that I shouldn’t disassociate myself from the pain. I needed to step right into it. And that, my friends, is what I friggin’ did.
I will spare all the little details that toot my own horn; half of what I think was important to me, is just that - IMPORTANT TO ME. Moi. No one else cares, and that’s okay.
I do think it’s important for me to share with you that through all of this, I found more joy, more laughter, more confidence, more pride. I discovered unsuspecting relationships, longer moments of pause, and just how precious our little golden flecks of life really are. I said more things from the heart that I never had the balls to say in my 40+ years of a speaking life; I unpacked so much junk, only to find that my suitcases were filled with the richest of riches. Looking towards the future to find “better days” is a futile exercise in mental exhaustion and lack of focus. A daily struggle for sure, but this is what I trained for.
