I’m not quite sure how long I’ve been writing these now, but it’s been a while. I’ve spent so much time at coffee shops now that it seems if the very fibers of my clothes are infused with the smell of coffee. It’s not a bad thing per say, but it really informs you of my life right now.
Thirty felt like a threshold. Thirty-one felt transformative. Thirty-two?
I don’t know.
I wish I could show you the edit history of this post, they’ve all been a hundred types of terrible. I detailed what I’ve been doing the past year all of December, but lack of material isn’t the real reason.
This past year has been hard, in a lot of ways. That’s okay. Things aren’t supposed to be easy, just because you do the right things it doesn’t mean it all works out. The universe is indifferent. I think it’s easy to complain and I do vent every once in a while, but taking a step back, I’m very lucky, all things considered. I have my health, I have my wits, and I have people who love me.
Doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when I feel lonely or empty. You can write from those places, and I think a lot of great writing has been produced from that. But I hate being in this place. February is usually when the wellspring of misery pops up, but I guess 2019 brought it on a bit sooner.
I was deep in it, and when I feel like that, I know myself and I know that I can’t be my best, no matter how hard I try. But I try nonetheless, because if there’s someone who’s the poster child for futile pursuits, that’s me.
I was in a particularly bad place this morning, so I tried to distract myself. I made myself watch the season finale of “The Good Place” (which is currently my favorite show on television). By the end of it, one of the characters hits a particularly low place and despite the self-pity, asks a question that all of us have asked at one point or another…
“What’s the point of love if it’s just gonna disappear? And how is it worse to not love anybody? There has to be meaning to existence. Otherwise the universe is just made of pain and I don’t like the thought of that.”
And the response was poignant…
“The more human I become, the less things make sense. But that’s part of the fun right? …if there were an answer I could give you to how the universe works it wouldn’t be special. It would just be machinery fulfilling its cosmic design…but since nothing seems to make sense, when you find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria. In all this randomness, in this pandemonium you…found each other, and you had a life together. Isn’t that remarkable?”
I ache to write like that. I long to say those words. Most of all, I want to live like that.
And that was it. Corner turned.
In all of this, you and me, we, are what make it all work. Me writing this matters, but you reading it makes it all the more meaningful. In every possible choice, throughout all of time, you and me just happen to be alive at the same time, and at one point or another we ran into each other, and now you’re reading this. Whether I’ve known you my whole life, or just a few minutes, we’re inextricably linked for better or worse (but hopefully for the better).
So, I’m very glad we found each other. It’s taken thirty two years to meet all of you, and I look forward to many many more, both in years and in people.
And at the end of the episode, we we’re left with this…
“I guess all I can do is embrace the pandemonium and find happiness in the unique insanity of being here now.”
It’s all we can do and when you put it that way, it’s hardly the worst thing.
Thank you all, and see you next year.