I got lost somewhere along the ride this year. Several times actually -- in an interesting amount of ways. It took me an unusually long time to realize it, but it’s been quite the unusual time indeed. Frequently, I feels as if I’m living the same day over and over again; like flipping the calendar only to find another Tuesday, or another March or April 2020. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe, just waiting for a huge hand to pluck me out of my misery and gently back into my baseline. That I somehow ended up in this time thread by mistake. Because there have been so many things I wish I could unsee, unknow, unlearn, and undo. About people, about the world, and about myself. And there are so many things I have come to mourn this year that I should have never had to. And again -- for people, for the world, and for the life and person I was before this year began. That last bit was the most difficult to digest: I had worked so hard to become her, and it was too soon and too sudden to let her go. But I had changed too much, saw too much, felt too much, and lost so much that I’ve realized, with the greatest surprise, that I must get to know this new person I’ve become. A woman with new wants, new needs, new plans all undocumented and unfiltered, simply waiting for me to figure her out; to accept that she now exists. An extra version of myself I didn’t expect to be. But that’s what happens when a year like this occurs. Hope became hard -- less of a feeling, and more of a verb that made me tired, or a noun that liked to play hide and seek. Then everything after that became hard, really. To exist in a disconnect, a limbo, a tightrope with no end or balance to it, was hard. Coming home when you weren’t ready and tabling adventures unfinished, was hard. Watching people break the rules at the risk of others lives, was hard. Witnessing the ugliness of the world reveal itself time after time, was hard. Fearing the air you breathe and every surface you touch, was hard. Being a nurse somehow became even more hard. Not being able to hug your parents and grandparents to protect them was hard. Constantly fearing being the one to harm your parents and grandparents was probably the most crippling, and the hardest. Letting yourself feel sad without feeling guilty was hard. Acknowledging that you’re allowed to be sad and upset, was hard. Being a good daughter, sister, girlfriend, and friend when you haven’t felt like yourself in a very long time was hard. Realizing that you have not been yourself in a very long time was hard. Navigating through all of the lost and losses was quite hard.
But to my surprise, none of this has made me hard: I think it’s this new me. She doesn’t get angry -- not like how we used to then we were younger. We were so, so angry back then. She’s calm, and patient; not rushing the many processes of forgiveness, or the newer obstacles of adult growth. Or the healing necessary after what a pandemic brings. But she’s tired, I can tell. Not particularly from searching for answers, just restless to feel peace. Peace. Yes, peace. Peace sounds like a good place to start.
