Hank’s Hope had its monthly peer to peer meeting last night. We talked about how it feels when you get honest with what you want. We immediately feel ungrateful for not appreciating what we have. It’s a shitty feeling.
A theme of life, especially this year. We’re hurting, we’re missing people, we’re wanting more. Then, the guilt barges into the home of the mind, tells us to shut the hell up and count our blessings, then slams the door in our face, leaving us more empty than ever before.
I’ve done plenty of this thinking, especially in 2020. Covid hit our home. I’ve been crushed at work, especially this fall. We’ve had house repairs and insurance claims, injuries and surgeries. We’ve had a job loss, and unemployment checks are the unicorns that I’ve long stopped chasing. My kids have been yanked around with school and seeing friends. I hate myself some days. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired.
I feel guilty (see a theme?) for writing this. My family had the space to isolate someone so covid didn’t rip through the whole family. I work for a company that has been extremely flexible and supportive. I have a credit card for tight financial times. My family is fed and warm (well, except for that fun time when we had a gas leak and the HVAC was out of commission). I’ve not been a victim of a hate crime, or discriminated against because of my race or sexual orientation, and I’ve not worried about whether or not I can afford medication.
This year, I’ve had friends and family members lose parents, fight cancer, divorce, miscarry, bury pets, and helplessly watch their businesses go under.
Compared to others, 2020 was a very good year.
2020 has helped me to know it’s normal to feel negative emotions when I think about what I don’t have. Of course, it’s positive thinking to count your blessings. But one does not negate the other. You are allowed to do both, equally.
It’s a balance, and it’s fair to say that 2020 wasn’t exactly a calibrated scale.
I made it through (well, almost, we have two weeks to go and I don’t want to jinx myself). If you’re reading this, you made it, too. I remember at one point I laughed until I couldn’t catch my breath, and had one (or four) too many glasses of wine. I celebrated with people I love, provided words of comfort to those in need, and rubbed my eyes in public with reckless abandon. I sneezed and coughed back when all I had to do was say “allergies!” and no one batted an eye.
I am choking down the boiled, unsalted, overcooked vegetable that was this year, cursing the whole time. I am also aware that I’m fortunate enough to have dessert. 2020 is a meal of my own palate of rancid and delicious, guilt and gratefulness, and the entire thing is my honest meal.