End Of The Year

The finished book sits on the shelf beside me and will soon go back to the library. Stag's Leap a collection of Sharon Olds' sad poetry, the story of her marriage's dissolution. Why do I read such things? Why does anyone? I know the answer, but saying it doesn't do the question justice, so I raise one shoulder slightly and incline my head toward it. A half shrug. Whatever.

My reading slowed this last month and a half just as my writing did. I was distracted. A bit lost. As I get from time to time. No real damage done. Just a slow down. Fewer books read. Still, I think about what happened and why. Have I been depressed? Here comes that half shrug again. Here comes whatever.

I read a guy's thoughts that January 1 doesn't begin anything. The year begins when he decides it.

My wife, before we married, categorically denied the new day until she had slept and awakened to it. I liked that. Not the sun, but her movement set the calendar. She declared it as though there could be no denying.

Me, I stick to January 1 and to midnight. Stag's Leap is the last book I'll finish this year. I've created a new blank list for the coming year. I've copied anniversaries, birthdays, and notes to a new planner and retired 2019's planner. I like the notion of beginnings even as I'm stuck on the endings inherent in the turning to a new year. Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

The finished book will soon return to the library where it may sit untouched for years. The new planner, mostly blank, sits on the desk, open to possibility. The old planner, its time done, the world having moved on, stands on a shelf in my office. And I type, feeling gears tumble as springs uncoil, and hands turn. I see the sun descending, the afternoon light begin to fade. I can't help but feel the year drawing to a close.

That and the steady rhythm of my heart doing whatever hearts do at a pace and according to a rhythm none of us know quite how to control.

Awareness & Anxiety

A teacher friend said they gained twenty pounds over the last few months, likely from job-related anxiety. One reason I decided to leave teaching was that I gained twenty-four pounds over the first five months of my last school year. Nothing I did made things better, so I got out, naively believing that switching jobs would be so healthy I'd be transformed and the weight would fall right off.

I'm smiling about the wistful logic in that line of thinking. Much of my weight gain was tied to anxiety and unhappiness. A better job meant relief from all that, right? Well, no. I'm still anxious about what to do and what will happen. The tones of my worries have changed, but I'm still anxious. The question is how to deal with that.

Awareness seems the key. Anxiety can be a driver. It's like going on stage. The pressure is good so long as I manage it. However, if anxiety becomes the driver, I'm frantic to the point of being unaware. Then I eat poorly and sink into depression. That's some of why I'm still heavy. I have a great job and I'm out of a terrible job, but I still lack awareness and still carry lots of anxiety. Fighting that anxiety hasn't proven effective. Being aware of it, just being aware, has shown some encouraging results.

Yesterday I was aware. After two days sick on the couch, I felt stronger but not whole. I woke aware of that and wanting to remain checked in throughout the day so as not to wear myself out. Because I was recovering from a stomach bug, I was aware of what, when, how, and why I was eating. By last night I felt good having been aware throughout the day.

Having a goal to lose weight isn't effective for me because it concentrates on a symptom. Awareness seems a better way to go though I won't master it and will likely drop the ball. So it goes. I'm not quite at the top of Maslow's hierarchy. Hell, I can't even see the top from where I stand. That's okay so long as I keep climbing, seeking enough awareness of my world and self that I become more deliberate, considerate, and thoughtful of my choices. That's a way toward contentment, peace, and achievement. It might even shed a few pounds.

I felt myself rev up this morning as I tallied up the things I want to do, the things I felt had to be done. Rather than beat back the anxiety, I whispered, "I'm getting anxious." I made myself aware and the anxiety receded. I took a breath, pet the cat, and came back to the world. If that's all I accomplish today, I'm satisfied.

Little Bit Of The Past

Yesterday I was all sorts of behind. I woke late. It had snowed. I needed to shave, shower, write Morning Pages, dress, shovel, pack lunch, eat breakfast, and get to work. No way could I get it all done and still drive my daughter to school and myself to work on time. Damn it.

My wife rescued me by taking our daughter to school. I paused Morning Pages halfway and shoveled the snow, shaved, showered, threw some lunch together, ate a bit of toast, and walked to work. Fifteen minutes early, I finished the last Morning Page and a half. No harm, no foul, but I knew I had to get up earlier, if for no other reason, then to feel better.

Last night, after Syracuse Women's Basketball in the Dome, we returned home to an inch or snow of new snow. Despite the late hour, I shoveled to save having so much snow in the morning. I considered shaving and showering to get them out of the way, but my daughter was in the shower and I was too tired.

This morning, after a couple snoozes, I got up earlier. I wrote all three Morning Pages, shoveled off a dusting on the driveway and sidewalk, shaved and showered, dressed for work, made lunch and toasted bread. By seven I was ready, but my daughter doesn't need to go until 7:30. Which sent me back to a little bit of the past.

I'm typing in the living room while side three of Genesis' Seconds Out spins on the turntable just like it did most mornings while I was in high school. Side three is comprised of one twenty-four minute song, "Supper's Ready." Each morning I got up at least twenty-four minutes early to listen to that song. It was a comfort before high school, which I thought of as a kind of prison. I'd sit in my room alone with the music playing and...well, I don't even know. I'd just sit and listen. That was good. It was enough.

This morning is a nod to that past. I no longer go to school. The last ten years of teaching were far worse than the years I spent as a student. After dropping off my daughter, I'll go to the community center and it isn't just that I don't mind, it's that I kind of can't wait. I'm happy.

Today is Dad's birthday. He would have been 81 and last night would have gone with us to the Syracuse Women's Basketball game. He would have been happy about my new job. And this morning he would be up early to watch the plow guys do his driveway, have his coffee, and start the day. I'm in the past enough this morning that he's here with me just a little.

Being up early, going back to the past, and Dad's birthday are happy things for me. I doubt it's the same for my mother and brother who wake and remember in their own ways. Me, I'm up early, Seconds Out is into the "flute" solo just before "the gods of Magog," it's Dad's birthday, and soon I'm off to a job I love. All that and I've spent twenty minutes typing this. What a day.

You should see the smile on my face and hear this album. Both of them out of the past and into the morning. Both of them just right.

Football, Veterans, And Apologies

I turned to the Sunday evening football game as the National Anthem was being played while a giant flag waved on the football field. I turned the channel.

I'm proud to be a citizen of the country founded on the principles of the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights. But I can't abide by the supposed patriotism of the red hat brigade. Nor can I give even tacit support to the current Executive Branch or those who support them.

It's the eve of Veterans Day and I'm divided about that. I respect people who have served but don't support the last two decades of war. I find military personnel equal to teachers, fire fighters, doctors, clergy, and all those caring for those in need. On the eve of Veteran's Day, I'm as unwilling as ever to celebrate or condemn at the jerk of a knee.

Speaking of knees, I'm embarrassed to admit watching the NFL given the hateful history of the management of that organization. I still find the game beautiful and exciting. I just can't quit. That's my fault entirely. I celebrate the players who took a knee and condemn those who so strongly opposed free expression of speech. Still, I watch and am part of the problem.

Tomorrow I'll take a moment to consider veterans, but I can't salute the flag or stand for the National Anthem as if my country can do no wrong. I change the channel, sit out the anthem, refuse to support the current administration, and question authority. I see no reason to apologize for any of that.

But I really am sorry I'm watching the NFL. There's really no good excuse.