By: Jana Greene
This is not a sappy piece about how we can all find the good in a shitty year, and we should all glean nuggets of gratitude (though we should.)
Twenty-twenty can be assessed by “a series of unfortunate events.” It’s a strange year, not just because of the obvious reasons (*gestures wildly), but because we are all having both universal experience AND an individual experience. We are going through much of the same stuff collectively, yet each and every one of us is entrenched in a totally unique experience.
So in other words, we have an opportunity to understand each other as never before, AND it is true to say that nobody understands what we are going through as individuals.
It’s changed me, and it’s changing you.
In the most fundamental way, I feel like we are all sort of victims of the pandemic and the economy, and the election and the drama that surrounds us.
But in another, we get to rise above, if we so choose to. A passel of impassioned victims is a very strong thing.
It’s been a difficult year to stay sober, I’ll be honest about that. But as I approach my 20 year anniversary of being alcohol-free, I’ve noticed a few things. This universally horrible year has taught me more about what matters than probably the last 20 combined.
I’ve learned to rabidly seek out that which makes me laugh.
Laughter is lifeblood. It carries all the things necessary for a good life on it’s coattails. I have never been sillier (albeit, some would question my “maturity,”) and I have no plans to curtail the silliness. Watch the comedies. Make time for your hilarious friends. Imbibe in standup comedy on Netflix (John Mulaney comes to mind,) look at the ridiculous memes and share them. Laugh and the world laughs with you.
Not everything I write has to be the best thing I ever wrote.
*Whines melodramatically*” BUT WHAT IS THE POINT OF WRITING, THEN?”
God I hate this about myself, the “all-or-nothing-ness.” I cease and desist the stifling of my creative flow just because sometimes I’m gonna suck. That primal fear of not being good enough keeps me from sharing at all, lest I not write something profound at every turn. Screw that. I’m a blogger, and bloggers gotta blog. Even if it’s a frothy piece with no deep, spiritual nutritional value.
ALL MY LABELS HAVE GONE TO SHIT, and I’m not even sure I have 2020 to blame for it.
Hooby, I have no idea what I’m doing. And I mean that across the board. I am a writer who doesn’t make a dime writing. I’m a Christian who has blissfully lost her evangelical bent. I’m a housewife whose house isn’t even clean, and who only cooks half the time. I’m a mom whose kids are grown and need her less (and in a different way.) I’m an artist who can’t seem to sell art, and what am I even DOING with my life?
This year has challenged me to question who I am, yet here I am still. And here you are. So in conclusion….
It’s enough to be a person. It’s enough to be a good friend. It’s enough to write for the love of the craft. It’s enough to have a close relationship with Jesus without all the dogma. It’s enough to be a loving wife. It’s enough to be a friend to those I love.
It’s ENOUGH. I’m enough. YOU are enough.
The bulldozer that is 2020 is a leveling disaster, but it’s a disaster that gives us the opportunity to rise like the mother-flippin’ Phoenixes we truly are.
God bless us, every single one.