Well, we’re only one month in, but 2017 has been a bit hard to swallow thus far. I’m gonna come right out and admit it.
I’m tryin’ – I really am. But I’ve been feeling like I’ve been going down the rabbit hole of negativity these past few days.
And it’s dark down here.
Because, you know – for one, the world has spiraled out of control…
Then, to add insult to injury, I’ve just emerged from yet ANOTHER bout of some recurring craptastic illness that’s plagued me on and off for the last six weeks now and just WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE. To be extra mean, it saps all my will to want to stop the world from spinning.
I tried to take a weekend to rest and recover and get some mental clarity only to discover that California’s record wet season is now invading the basement of my mountain house, with cut trees, dead from drought, still on the ground outside:
Good thing we’ve just FIRED AN OPENING SHOT AT THE PLANET in our new leadership’s WAR ON THE F#@%ING ENVIRONMENT.
It’s too much.
I’ve been teetering on the edge.
That is, until I came home today.
I met up with my husband at the Transbay bus terminal in downtown San Francisco (we try to do it every day). We rode home together, hand in hand, and I kinda just snapped. I had a bit of an emotional vomit at a volume that everyone on the bus could enjoy.
And it felt good.
It felt good to spew all kinds of frustration – fears for the planet, complaints about work, anger at the mess of our human existence right now – but it also felt good to have someone actually listening and engaging and even say, “I’m glad to hear you vent. You were getting so quiet and walled up.”
Um, okay – really?
Note to self: vent more.
And then we walked in the door, and he very quietly and casually told (reminded) me that he made something.
He made it a while ago, while I was in Washington D.C., and he’d been trying to show it to me, but I’d been distant and didn’t respond the first few times he asked if I wanted to see it.
Surprised (and really not knowing what he was talking about), I asked if I could please see it now.
And he showed it to me:
He made this. All of it. Alone, in our home. My Texan-Californian superhero wrote a symphony to his late grandfather, recorded it, and edited a movie to go with it and I didn’t even notice. And he desperately wanted to show me, but didn’t want to disturb my funk.
I burst into tears.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
There is no getting through anything that’s to come without this cowboy. And we’re not getting there through the rabbit hole.