A year ago today, I wrote the most defining set of words of my life, I reckon.
Interestingly enough, when I wrote it, I know I did not mean it. But thankfully, I wrote it, anyway.
When you put words out there in the universe, there is some value in that action. Maybe you kind of understand you're bound to your words, and you remember them when it is and isn't convenient.
When a catastrophic event takes places, you can start to let "it" define who you are. You can do lots of positive things with that, of course. It can be very motivating. You can easily do a lot of bad. You can mix it up a little, to keep things interesting . . .and do a LOT of both.
When you decide to be tough, that is great, but no matter how tough you are, let me tell you. . .sadness is incredibly hard to shake. And, shockingly to some, you can easily grow attached to sadness. Love without a place to go is a hard thing to work out. While you're trying to work it out, you might cling onto any crazy thing. Like being sad. It is familiar, after all.
You can be strong and still drag the cloud around, folks. You can drag it and drag it. . .and do good things, built new things, change for the better and never really enjoy any of those things because you either knowingly or unknowingly. . .keep that cloud right there. It is consistent like that. You are afraid to love new things and have joy in them because, listen to me. . .you know how quickly they can be taken away. You are afraid, fact is. . .and one thing you know about sadness. . .it sure won't leave you without you forcing it out.
At the start of 2017, there had been ten long years since a fire that changed my life. I was, even when I wrote this 1/1/17 blog, still pretty proud of myself for never bothering anyone in all those years in the wake of what had happened. Not a soul. Never leaning on another person. Never sharing what it all really meant. Never in the losses that came after those, either. Never having a moment. Never crying. Never saying anything. Never publicly feeling sorry for myself (though inside, sure I did). Never. Nothing.
That all seems great, except the nothing can get you, eventually.
In all that time, I would say how much I had changed for the better, and while it was true, I had lost all of my joy. I slowly stopped doing anything I had once loved to do. I loved reading novels, writing interesting pieces of fiction, watching period pieces, dreamed of riding horses, of learning how to do new things, and so many things I shall not bother to say today. I knowingly did this, though. I cannot look back over the last decade and remember being happy. And you know, along with the father, brothers and sister I cannot have back. . .I cannot have those ten years back, either. I know I wittingly stopped any chance at joy at many points. I did that. No one did that to me.
So when I wrote this blog on this day last year, I admit, I was so attached to the sadness, I did not even want to let it go. It was more a writing of things I knew needed to be said. Being "steady" and unhappy had defined who I was for so long, with all the changes and losses, mercy, I really will say. . .I wasn't sure anymore change could even be part of my life. But I wrote it. Out there it was.
An expectation. Something I have been sure not to have in a long, long time . . about anything.
And here we are, and I ended 2017 knowing I really have let a LOT of the brokenness go, so there are power in words. I remember thinking of the blog as the year zipped past often. I somehow bound myself to it without even meaning to.
So. . .Say what needs to be even when you're not sure you believe it can be at the time.
I think 2017 had little snippets of joy or. . .at least things working toward joy, and I really do intend that 2018 will be a year where I find I've left that sadness entirely behind.
I think that stands as a fairly solid resolution.
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