Trading Nostalgia for Promise
The five disc random track shuffle is set to go with Ray Charles, The Band, David Gray, The Killers, and…Rod Stewart (of all things). Jesus, now that I think about it, maybe I should add some Cher and Judy Garland and just watch some gay porn instead of write this. Where is my head tonight?
Ahhh, there it is. Still trying unsuccessfully to wrap itself around the abortion that was 2005. While my mind does a quick flip through its rolodex of dismay, I’ll savor this Makers and a splash… Yeah, that’s not going to last long.
I have always loved New Years. The Eve is a night of revelation fostered in hellos and goodbyes. Possibility and nostalgia. I have always tended toward the nostalgic. An unfortunate quirk that causes me to forsake what could be for what could have been. I refer to it as an unfortunate quirk when what it is downright devastating—a self-induced stasis that destroys any hint of personal growth.
2005 was a different Beast, however. And it is with a cheer in the air and a charge in my step that I bid this mean year a thankful adieu. I have had past years offer me treasures I hold still; and I have had some years take serious shots at me. But the Lady 2005 goddamn near did me in. I mean with an ass-whipping of Southern Gothic proportion. 2005 followed me to the Jeep at 3 a.m., asked me for a light, then proceeded to beat me into near submission. As I lay motionless in the gutter, she rifled through my pockets, took my shoes, wrote Fuck You in black Sharpie across my ample belly, and mule-kicked me low. Then she decided to get serious.
I am an easy-going sort for the most part. Sure, I’ve long been a worrier, but I get by. I love and am loved. I laugh loudly when things are funny. I usually smile politely when they are not. And I am lucky by nature. By that I mean while severe things may happen to (and around me), catastrophic events pass me by and settle elsewhere. And I have certainly been blessed with more than my share of good things. It is not a bad way to get by. So imagine my surprise when confronted with 2005.
I deplore baseless claims of victimization. And in no way do I suggest I was a victim of a bad year. I was simply guilty of shortsightedness and naiveté and I hit a rough patch. This led to a trying year. We all have them and we strive to make the next one better. But to 2005 I say, I will never forget you, for you were no gentle lover. In fact you kept me awake for the better part of your life. Due largely to you, I have forgotten how to sleep. I don’t think I’ve done so since April. Often I am unsure whether or not I’ll sleep again. But not a problem—think of the extra time I’ll have to learn things.
And 2005, you nearly taught me how to hate. Me!!! Now that’s just plain mean. For you know I don’t even like the word, much less the emotion. But you were swift Lady, and true. And I will unlearn the thing that gives such emotion a suggested foothold; for I will pass no such thing onto my Boy. It is a slow thing to rid one’s self of. But I like the old me and intend to reclaim my values.
And 2005, you caused me to evaluate man’s propensity for violence in general and my own capabilities in particular. I don’t believe I would need to be pushed any further to discover just what those capabilities are. But dear 2005, it is late. And I rest like an heir at the eve of your gravesite. I am confident you will push me no further. That, 2005, is in the best interest of us both.
I will make a deal with you, Year. You go quietly into your good night and I will go boisterously into mine. I will treat you as a lesson. And this New Year’s Eve, I’ll not grasp sadly for what is lost, but stride proudly into the light of all that is new and promising and good. I hereby trade nostalgia for promise. Self-pity for self-confidence. Self-doubt for self-actualization.
2005, you did not succeed. I stand tall. Bent but not broken. And now you fade ironically away, becoming little more than a reference point for insignificant statistics. Me? Well, I strengthen and move on to 2006. I’m a Category 3, Baby. Tropical Storm Emerson and I have a new year to whom we must introduce ourselves. And this is going to blossom into a beautiful friendship. I know it because the feeling is bone deep.
I know it because it is so.
Ahhh, there it is. Still trying unsuccessfully to wrap itself around the abortion that was 2005. While my mind does a quick flip through its rolodex of dismay, I’ll savor this Makers and a splash… Yeah, that’s not going to last long.
I have always loved New Years. The Eve is a night of revelation fostered in hellos and goodbyes. Possibility and nostalgia. I have always tended toward the nostalgic. An unfortunate quirk that causes me to forsake what could be for what could have been. I refer to it as an unfortunate quirk when what it is downright devastating—a self-induced stasis that destroys any hint of personal growth.
2005 was a different Beast, however. And it is with a cheer in the air and a charge in my step that I bid this mean year a thankful adieu. I have had past years offer me treasures I hold still; and I have had some years take serious shots at me. But the Lady 2005 goddamn near did me in. I mean with an ass-whipping of Southern Gothic proportion. 2005 followed me to the Jeep at 3 a.m., asked me for a light, then proceeded to beat me into near submission. As I lay motionless in the gutter, she rifled through my pockets, took my shoes, wrote Fuck You in black Sharpie across my ample belly, and mule-kicked me low. Then she decided to get serious.
I am an easy-going sort for the most part. Sure, I’ve long been a worrier, but I get by. I love and am loved. I laugh loudly when things are funny. I usually smile politely when they are not. And I am lucky by nature. By that I mean while severe things may happen to (and around me), catastrophic events pass me by and settle elsewhere. And I have certainly been blessed with more than my share of good things. It is not a bad way to get by. So imagine my surprise when confronted with 2005.
I deplore baseless claims of victimization. And in no way do I suggest I was a victim of a bad year. I was simply guilty of shortsightedness and naiveté and I hit a rough patch. This led to a trying year. We all have them and we strive to make the next one better. But to 2005 I say, I will never forget you, for you were no gentle lover. In fact you kept me awake for the better part of your life. Due largely to you, I have forgotten how to sleep. I don’t think I’ve done so since April. Often I am unsure whether or not I’ll sleep again. But not a problem—think of the extra time I’ll have to learn things.
And 2005, you nearly taught me how to hate. Me!!! Now that’s just plain mean. For you know I don’t even like the word, much less the emotion. But you were swift Lady, and true. And I will unlearn the thing that gives such emotion a suggested foothold; for I will pass no such thing onto my Boy. It is a slow thing to rid one’s self of. But I like the old me and intend to reclaim my values.
And 2005, you caused me to evaluate man’s propensity for violence in general and my own capabilities in particular. I don’t believe I would need to be pushed any further to discover just what those capabilities are. But dear 2005, it is late. And I rest like an heir at the eve of your gravesite. I am confident you will push me no further. That, 2005, is in the best interest of us both.
I will make a deal with you, Year. You go quietly into your good night and I will go boisterously into mine. I will treat you as a lesson. And this New Year’s Eve, I’ll not grasp sadly for what is lost, but stride proudly into the light of all that is new and promising and good. I hereby trade nostalgia for promise. Self-pity for self-confidence. Self-doubt for self-actualization.
2005, you did not succeed. I stand tall. Bent but not broken. And now you fade ironically away, becoming little more than a reference point for insignificant statistics. Me? Well, I strengthen and move on to 2006. I’m a Category 3, Baby. Tropical Storm Emerson and I have a new year to whom we must introduce ourselves. And this is going to blossom into a beautiful friendship. I know it because the feeling is bone deep.
I know it because it is so.
posted by Ryan at 11:21 AM
4 Comments:
Love the imagery and personification of the year following you to your jeep at 3 a.m.
Here's to it going, whether quietly or loudly, either way sounds good for you as long as it's gone.
And perhaps in 2006 you'll compile a book of pontifications and reflections...
I'd buy it.
Lovely post.
Roaming round your archives this morning, looking for pictures of Emerson (ooh, he has grown tall, saucy boy!), I see you have been at this for almost a year, which is an accomplishment, even if you don't think so. At least that is what Mallory tells me when I bemoan my sorry unfulfilled procrastination-dominated existence. You gonna give this another year? I will if you will.
Many thanks for the nice words, Hamel and Roxy.
MJ, I do hereby commit to another year of this exercise. I'll be glad to have the company. And no extended breaks for me this go 'round.
R
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