We have this thing where we ALWAYS state why we are toasting when we raise our glasses, its in our vows. Today we said “here’s to whatever comes” (which is from fiddler on the roof) because we feel vulnerable and out of the control we often pretend we have. Were headed to a memorial service today for a young man and his wife who were killed tragically in a car accident. I feel a lot of things in response to this, I suspect I will feel different things in a couple hours after the service, but in this hour I feel vulnerable.
On the Facebook I keep seeing these posts like “enough already 2016” and how much 2016 took from us and how we all can’t wait for a new year to begin. Its a trick we are playing on ourselves that suffering knows the bounds of a year, that a the year itself is what is causing the pain. I don’t fault anyone for making these posts, we all do what we have to in order to get through hardship. For me being honest with myself is what I need. There will be tragedy and death in 2017, I can almost guarantee it. So what the cuss am I going to do?
Well for starters, I’m going to write.
For Christmas I received a gift from someone. She believes in my dreams so much that she gave me little leather baby shoes. Isn’t that so sweet! I’m going to hope in the future, that those shoes will get put to use by my baby person. Hope is not a high-heels thing that makes you look like you have it all together. Hope is much more like bare feet braving rocky ground. Its a bit gritty, am I right? Its time to admit that we are afraid, that the darkness is blinding, that our inability to vault up sadness freaks us out. Then we follow that doubt up with hope, one foot in front of the other.
I’m going to show up in new ways this year, for people who need me to. I’m not totally sure what this means but I’m up for whatever comes. I’m going to be the opposite of silent, I’m going to stand up and speak out about stuff that deserves to be broadcast. Lastly-I’m going to hold my hands open not clenched, because nothing is mine. L’chaim