Saul Good and Co.

So Tired, Tired of Waiting

Have you gotten the sense that joy has been on hold, if not outright cancelled in the past year? I've experienced good times, but always with my fingers crossed, trying to appreciate the moment but aware that in the background, something just isn't right. That's the pandemic, of course. That was also the election cycle. And that's gun violence and transphobia and racial injustice and... life. That's life and that's always been life, I realize, but something about the past year crystallized it all to the point where I put up a wall between me and my access to inhabiting life in a full way. I think I lost my ability to insist on carving out room for the good within the absolutely, piled-on bad. I don't want to live like that any more. Once and for all. I want to prioritize delight, not in a way that denies the strife all around, but defies it. Yeah, shit's shitty. It will be even in the barely-imaginable future where we've regained a semblance of control over our lives and at the minimum don't live in fear of being other people. Yeah, activism is necessary to make change and always will be and it occurs to me, finally, that I can infuse what is a lifelong commitment with a sense of positive purpose. I can take joy in fighting for what's right, even when it's painful. It doesn't have to feel like taking medicine, even as it is medicinal. Of course I'm still sorting out the hardest parts, but changing my mindset about it helps me feel less stuck and useless. This is more of a pep talk for me than a thought out bit of writing fit for publication, but fuck it, that's 70% of this blog isn't it? I'm tired of waiting on whatever it is I'm waiting on to give myself permission to experience my maximum happiness potential, whatever that is. 

Anyway, I think it's time to call a Goddess Week sometime in the near future. Join me!

 

Sharpen Yer Boot and Bludgeon Yer Eye

I promise I won't keep doing "this time one year ago" posts, but today marks a pretty significant date. It's been exactly one year since Mike got "furloughed" from his main gig, writing questions for a trivia company. Like so many things being thrown at us at the time, we had no idea what was going on or what we were going to do, and thankfully it turned out ok for us. The loss of that job changed our life, and strangely for the better, but when the news landed we were understandably buggin'. I know we've been very, very lucky in how we've fared over the course of this pandemic. I don't say that to brag. It's been hard in its own way, not even counting the loss of Mike's dad to COVID. I just look back on what I wrote a year ago today before we got the news about the trivia job and I don't know how exactly to feel about it. Good for me for being such a precious Molly Sunshine or whatever? Even if I did manage to capitalize on those positives I identified and managed to find many more on top of that, it still seems too soon to reflect meaningfully. In some ways we thrived. We forged new routines, got into a home-based groove that it's kind of hard to imagine giving up now.

There's no doubt I'm over the moon with joy anticipating seeing our friends and families again without fear, and at the same time, the idea of resuming "normal" is like, what? It feels as foreign as lockdown did to the before-version of us. Everyone in this country and in most of the world has been tested, and ruined in some way and here we still are, the fortunate ones anyway. There is much unresolved rage and heartbreak amid the gratitude, and I don't think that's going anywhere. The pandemic is not behind us yet. There's hope, but it's still happening and I guess it's OK to not have any wisdom to offer. I won't even speculate on the long-term effects on our psyches. Just let the days keep bleeding into each other, appreciate I woke up able-bodied, and look forward to the Friday afternoon transition into the sweatpants I've grown an unhealthy attachment to. All right it's not so rote and depressing as all that- there's plenty of big and small lights in the drudgery of everyday existence and today's is doing the same thing we did on this date last year, which is using St. Patrick's Day--plus now the anniversary of Mike's unemployment--as an excuse to drink some Guinness and irish whiskey and hang out. Slainte and all that. 

And She'll Never Never Be Any Good

I've been spending a fair bit of time with my old journals for this little instagram project (it's still fun, so I'm still doing it), and one thing that strikes me over and over is how much I just... left out. Specific memories. Traditions and rituals. Details that live only in my mind. For example, I'm several years into my chronicles at this point, and there is not a single mention of my grandfather, who I saw every single day and was one of my most beloved people. I know it's because I took his presence for granted at that time and I didn't need to remind myself that he was there, but if you only read my journals, you'd never know he existed. I know I've written about him a lot LOT in other venues, including my various blogs, and I have plenty of photographic proof of his presence in my life. There are so many other examples of this, and as I've gravitated toward memoir writing, it really hits home just how many pieces are needed to complete the puzzle of representing a human life. I'm not really even talking about myself here (for once), just in general about what goes into biographies and such. You can do your best to be thorough and rebuild from the ground up with whatever information is available, but at the end of the day, nobody can ever really knows anyone else's mind.  It's an obvious conclusion, but no less WHOA to me. That's my big think-piece for now, taking those baby steps back to bloggy productivity. 

 

It's incredibly warm in New England today, that kind of false spring that you know will only break your heart when it's 32 degrees the next day but you don't care in the moment, it's just enough to give you hope. People are getting vaccinated left and right. I'm finally ready to start sending out my book query. We're moving ahead, as a country. I'm trying to take this opportunity to stay vigilant and double down on the fights that still need fighting, but overall it's a cautiously good time. I never take smiling selfies because even though I think my smile is one of my defining features IRL, it looks goofy to me when I'm taking a pic. I gave it a try anyway because I'm a rebel like that.

 

Don't You Forget About Me

Who's out of blog practice? Yow. You'd think I'd have tons to say since I haven't written in so long, but you'd be wrong. It's nice that March is here, but it's also such a heavy thing to be aware of considering March was the last time most of us did anything that felt like normal. A year in this thing, with no sure end in sight, it's not something I could have fathomed handling back when it was, "oh, go into lockdown for a few months, you can do it." It's probably better that I didn't know what was ahead of us, it's probably always better. Having the vaccine is no small scrap of hope at this point, though. Mike and I were extremely lucky to get the vaccine due to our workplace's classification in phase one, and I do not take it for granted. It means we're that much closer to being able to hug our parents, if not to be out in the world without feeling like there are mines everywhere and stepping in one is inevitable. Being fully vacc'd changed the way I look at the world. Things are still bleak but so many shades less bleak, you know? Thank you for that, science people. I hope everyone can put on the vaccine-colored glasses ASAP.

Obviously I don't have a structure or even much content today, just a stream of consciousness hello to get me back on the horse. I'll be back with some more thinky stuff real soon-like. Things are pretty good for me, considering...oh, everything.