You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water
You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. I read this in a book a couple weeks back and it has stuck with me. There have been a lot of times this year that I’d preferred to have just chilled on the beach and waited for a nice lil dingy to come get me. Or a yacht. A yacht would have been nice too.
But 2018 taught me that sometimes you have no choice but to cross it. Even when it’s filled with giant waves and sea monsters and olives and ex boyfriends. Sometimes, one must simply keep moving forward.
Now let’s attempt to unpack this motherfucker.
Remember a couple of years ago when Mariah Carey royally fucked up her NYE performance in Times Square? Okay if you don’t, please google that shit because it is EPIC. (And also she requested to be pushed from her trailer to the stage via wheel chair so she wouldn’t have to walk. But the NYE people did not HAVE a wheelchair, so they ended up pushing her in an office chair. How do I know this, you ask? I was there when the NYE woman assigned to make sure she showed up where she needed to be on time was having the meltdown about not having a wheelchair. Perks of being an entertainment publicist…) OK, so you got it now right? Well that’s kind of how my 2018 feels.
And on this rainy AF December 31, I look back on this year with a lot of confused feelings. How the hell am I supposed to feel? Do I just sum it all up and say, ‘THIS YEAR SUCKED, FUCK YOU 2018″ ala Mariah, or do I go with a polite, “Oh well, you know, it had more downs than ups but here’s to a new year and a fresh start!” Neither of those feel quite right. After all, I did have some great times this year (sorry, M).
I opened my second Broadway show, I went to TRL at MTV and got to feel like a teenager again, saw one of my favorite bands for the 10th time with my momma, met Luke Skywalker (hollaaaaa), made some incredible new friends and reinforced other friendships, got to explore Cape Cod for the first time — somewhere I’ve always wanted to go, was able to be there when my best friend of 15 years got engaged, got a ridiculous but very funny pizza tattoo that has story to go with it that will always make me smile (sorry Dad), made a couple trips up to Boston to see some really incredible & inspiring theater, voted, and did countless other things that made me smile / decide they were worth an Instagram post in the past year. But of course, all of this is overshadowed by the death of my mother.
When I came home to celebrate the 4th of July on June 30, 2018, I had no idea that I’d be staying for a month. And I immediately was able to look at that trip as one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. If I hadn’t had that trip planned, there’s no way she would have let me come home when things started to go downhill. So thank you to my boss for deciding to close the office on those days and give me a reason to go home.
BUT IT ALSO SUCKED. I’ve learned I have a big and slightly annoying tendency to find the positives in awful situations. I think it’s just naturally how I respond after all that Early 20s shit. But if I’m going to properly unpack this year and how I’m feeling right now (which LBH probably won’t actually happen until I visit The Beloved Therapist next week), then I need to be totally honest. July was the hardest month of my LIFE. And I’m still no where near recovered from it.
I’m still tired, I still have no will power to work out, my skin has looked like a 13 year old boy’s for 5 months now, I drink like a pirate, I’m afraid to leave the house without my anxiety medication, and I sporadically have flash backs to being in the hospital and burst into tears. But this is my life for now. I have to accept that a some adult acne is not the end of the world — it’s a battle scar. The extra 10 pounds I wear around my waist will not be there forever. They are here for now, and I need to get the fuck over it and remember that none of my friends are going to like me less because I’ve gone from a size 4 to a size 8. I WILL get back into the swing of my yoga classes. I’ll figure out how to enjoy alone time again. I’m taking care of myself the best that I know how.
And that leads me into my feelings about 2019. I can’t seem to look at this year like it will be “a new start.” All it is to me right now is the first year that my mom will not be apart of. I felt like this on my birthday too. I couldn’t help but thinking, mom is not going to know me at this age. I can’t tell if this scares me more or makes me sad more. Maybe a combination of both? All I can say is I don’t like it.
I’m usually all for change. All for something new; for the unknown. There’s a great Harry Potter quote in the 4th or so book that Hagrid says: “What’s comin’ will come, an’ we’ll meet it when it does.” Typically when I think of that quote, I feel some excitement with it. Now, I’m not so sure.
Well damn, this got dark! But hey, it needed to happen. Never underestimate the power of getting something out of your head, be it in words or writing. And let me just say I had in no way planned on using that quote in this post. It just kind of came to me. This is turning out to be a very quote-y post, but YOLO.
Next week I am going to London. And maybe Paris, TBD. I’m going alone, but staying with my amazing cousin. I can not begin to describe how much I need this trip. I know that it’s going to be emotional but also cathartic AF. I have no plans but to read and write and be inspired by the city that I love so much. There it is — my new start.
So here I am, sitting in on the floor in my childhood living room, with a whole slew of feelings running through me. I feel scared, sad, apprehensive, excited, guilty for feeling excited, fat (seriously — my fat jeans are too small at the moment), and in some way, a bit lighter. And LG, if you read this, yes, I feel better.
What’s coming will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.
2019, I will see you tomorrow. Please be a bit easier on me this year. And maybe send me a nice man…or a winning lottery ticket…or just a bit of luck.
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o kindness yet,
for auld lang syne
— Robert Burns