It’s Christmas soon, again.
I think like many others of us, I have lost track of the days completely. I am luckier than most though, I actually get to go outside whenever I please. The woods around my house belong to nobody but me. Well, me and the bears. And the deer and the lynx and potentially some bobcats. Being able to get fresh air is pretty nice though, especially after half a year stuck inside in the middle of the city.
It’s a little scary, how quickly things can shut down and end. It seems like overnight when this first started, the city went from packed and thriving to barren. I couldn’t set foot in stores I had been in a few days ago. It wasn’t even really safe to take the train to my, at the time still in-person, classes. At least I can now suffer through this without suffocating while I do.
I still haven’t had much time to write, nor any inclination to. My muse was, and is, the city and its people. I am currently cut off from both of these things. I enjoy thinking about the lives people may lead outside of mine, and telling stories I’d like to think I know, but it’s not because I enjoy storytelling. I enjoy the emotions evoked by these people and their made up lives. No more being able to piece together the tragic day the woman across from you on the train had because her eyes look exhausted and she fell asleep with her purse open. No more wondering the circumstances that lead the man at the other end of the car into, and then out of, prison, covered in tattoo’s with a kitten in his duffel bag that he’s very protective of.
I think it’s reasonable, to be angry. Angry at each other, angry at the people in charge, and angry at anything and everything in the vicinity. The entire year has been wasted, for most of us. Millions of people were and are facing eviction. People are out of work, out of money, homeless, hungry, lost all because of incompetency and greed. This year, and the lives that have been lost, have been stolen from us and the world. I do not know we are expected to accept this.
Currently, my timeline looks something like this:
I always thought it was scary being aware and tracking how fast the days go by, and how quickly said days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. I suppose it’s just as terrifying not recognizing it go by. Or, rather, watching it go by while you feel frozen in time. I cannot say I would mind this, if I was out travelling, exploring, discovering, etc. Unfortunately, I am not.
I don’t necessarily have any wise insights to share. Well, not many. I suppose there is one thing, though. I’ve learned that the past is like a ghost. It does not exist yet it continues to haunt many of us. I suppose it’s important for everyone to learn to let their past go at some point. It does not exist, and the only power it holds over you is the power you give it. Making peace with that fact has made me a much happier person. And I suppose that’s all that really matters in times like these.
Trapped in time that does not move, I find my grip holding firm
The rose in my fist is thorny, yet my hand has not one cut
In having a beauty such as yours, what allure does spring hold?