Graduating college lead to many life changes. The major impacts came right away: supporting myself, trying to find things to do with my time, and an overwhelming lack of purpose. There are many less obvious changes, though, that appear to have a longer-lasting impact. I’ve gone through a subtle shift over the past few years from looking at my life from a September to May schedule to a January to December one. Not only does the new schedule mean no summer vacation, it means I place greater value and thought in to New Year’s. No longer is this holiday about the mid-point of a semester and a break from “real life,” it’s about taking stock of what happened in the past year, where my life is right now, and where I want it to be going.
The past few New Year’s were pretty easy. My year was good, I was happy, and I had a set path. There wasn’t really much to come to terms with because my life was traveling along as expected. This year contemplating my place in the world is much more difficult, though. It was a rocky year with unexpected events. I was sad for much of it, my life is currently in upheaval, and I am totally unsure of what my future holds. At the same time, I can’t just brush off and forget what happened this year. There were lots of good times, and I am in the processes of learning from the bad. As much as I want to take the easy road and say “good riddance” to 2010, I know that I cannot do that.
So here I am, stuck between happy and sad, progress and remembrance, hope and reality. How is it that I am supposed to go out and celebrate this ambivalence? My decision: stop thinking about it as a year. The turnover from 2010 to 2011 is not just the change of a year, it is the official change of the decade. (Think about it, we didn’t start at the year 0, we started at the year 1.) When I think about my current life in comparison to where I was 10 years ago, as opposed to where I was last year, I achieve a much better perspective.
In the past 10 years, I have attended high school and graduated, moved to Boston, attended and graduated college, lived in 8 different apartments (plus one house), fallen in love, worked 3 different jobs, made (and remade) countless friendships, and traveled around the country. I’ve also fallen out of touch with friends, felt homesick (for many different places), missed people terribly, and mourned the death of family members, pets, and relationships. I’ve been angry, sad, frustrated, and lonely. I’ve been happy, content, joyful, and loved. Over the past 10 years I have gone from a 15 year old girl to a 25 year old woman. And the whole way, I have lived.
So tonight I will celebrate, not because I am happy this year is over or because I want to remember how great it was. I will celebrate the possibility of the coming year. New Year’s Eve is no longer a time to celebrate a break from real life. It is a time to celebrate the actuality of real life. I have the opportunity for a whole new year of experiences, relationships and living. Happy New Year, indeed.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
the christmas story
Earlier today, I realized I was listening to “O Holy Night” on repeat. I always enjoy listening to Christmas music around the holidays, but it was strange for me to be so fixated on this song. It’s not happy, peppy, or heart warming, which is how I usually characterize the season. At the end of the song, I feel a sense of emotional release. I feel like I’ve let out a giant sigh. It got me thinking about the Christmas story. Even though I’ve heard the story at least 50 times in my young life, I haven’t spent much time actually thinking about it. It’s hard to take those words of something that happened so long ago and realize what was actually happening, so I decided to picture myself in Mary’s shoes.
I figure that I’m living in Massachusetts, dating some guy, let’s call him Joe, who grew up in Maine. All of a sudden, Paul LePage, the new Maine governor, decides that anyone born in Maine has to go to the state to prove that they exist. Joe and I have to gather up our donkey and walk to Maine because of this guy. And did I mention that I am nine months pregnant? Not only am I pregnant, but Joe isn’t even the father. Some angel appeared to me to tell me that I am pregnant with the son of God. The son of God?! Can you believe that? Well, I am having a hard enough time dealing with it myself without everyone else I know judging me for either being crazy or a slut.
So Joe and I show up in Portland and get counted, only to realize that it is too late to go back home that night. Just as we realize this, it starts to rain. So here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere with my donkey, a husband who only half believes that I didn’t cheat on him to get pregnant, and I’m soaking wet. Since everyone else had to come from all across to state to prove to Mr. LePage that they exist, too, (and probably planned ahead and reserved a room at the local inns,) Joe and I can’t find a place to stay.
Trying to keep me dry, Joe decides to ask a local farmer that we pass if we can stay in his barn. Don’t get me wrong. I am pretty grateful to be dry, but I took one look around and realized this was not going to be an easy night. There was hay everywhere, mooing cows, baaing sheep, a chicken just ran across my foot, and don’t even get me started on the smell. As I turn to ask Joe how things could possibly get worse, my water breaks. It doesn’t matter anymore who the father of this baby is, all that matters is that I am about to give birth. In a barn.
The night was long and hard, but after hours of labor, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Joe was there to help me the whole way. At some point, I got used to the smell and my own moans drowned out those of the animals around me. The rain had stopped, and the sun was rising on a new day. I let out tears of joy at the same time that my baby cried that first time.
I look at Jesus and I looked at Joe. It doesn’t matter what happened the night before. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks about our baby. All that matters is that we made it. Looking at the two men in my life, I feel an overwhelming sense of love. It doesn’t matter if the love that created my baby is different from the love that creates every other baby in this world. Love is love.
I always get so hung up on the fact that this story has a happy ending. Mary has a healthy baby boy who goes on to become the King of the Jews. All these years I’ve been missing the real emotions behind the story, though. Mary and Joseph had a really hard life and Christmas Eve was anything but celebratory. Everything was up in the air, they were in a strange place, and everyone was doubting them. The story of Christmas, though, is their triumph over all those obstacles. The birth of Jesus is a huge, emotional release. It is only out of the lowest, hardest times that greatness can happen. Christmas is about going through a tough situation, having a little faith, and coming out better on the other side.
I figure that I’m living in Massachusetts, dating some guy, let’s call him Joe, who grew up in Maine. All of a sudden, Paul LePage, the new Maine governor, decides that anyone born in Maine has to go to the state to prove that they exist. Joe and I have to gather up our donkey and walk to Maine because of this guy. And did I mention that I am nine months pregnant? Not only am I pregnant, but Joe isn’t even the father. Some angel appeared to me to tell me that I am pregnant with the son of God. The son of God?! Can you believe that? Well, I am having a hard enough time dealing with it myself without everyone else I know judging me for either being crazy or a slut.
So Joe and I show up in Portland and get counted, only to realize that it is too late to go back home that night. Just as we realize this, it starts to rain. So here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere with my donkey, a husband who only half believes that I didn’t cheat on him to get pregnant, and I’m soaking wet. Since everyone else had to come from all across to state to prove to Mr. LePage that they exist, too, (and probably planned ahead and reserved a room at the local inns,) Joe and I can’t find a place to stay.
Trying to keep me dry, Joe decides to ask a local farmer that we pass if we can stay in his barn. Don’t get me wrong. I am pretty grateful to be dry, but I took one look around and realized this was not going to be an easy night. There was hay everywhere, mooing cows, baaing sheep, a chicken just ran across my foot, and don’t even get me started on the smell. As I turn to ask Joe how things could possibly get worse, my water breaks. It doesn’t matter anymore who the father of this baby is, all that matters is that I am about to give birth. In a barn.
The night was long and hard, but after hours of labor, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Joe was there to help me the whole way. At some point, I got used to the smell and my own moans drowned out those of the animals around me. The rain had stopped, and the sun was rising on a new day. I let out tears of joy at the same time that my baby cried that first time.
I look at Jesus and I looked at Joe. It doesn’t matter what happened the night before. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks about our baby. All that matters is that we made it. Looking at the two men in my life, I feel an overwhelming sense of love. It doesn’t matter if the love that created my baby is different from the love that creates every other baby in this world. Love is love.
I always get so hung up on the fact that this story has a happy ending. Mary has a healthy baby boy who goes on to become the King of the Jews. All these years I’ve been missing the real emotions behind the story, though. Mary and Joseph had a really hard life and Christmas Eve was anything but celebratory. Everything was up in the air, they were in a strange place, and everyone was doubting them. The story of Christmas, though, is their triumph over all those obstacles. The birth of Jesus is a huge, emotional release. It is only out of the lowest, hardest times that greatness can happen. Christmas is about going through a tough situation, having a little faith, and coming out better on the other side.
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