It Is What It Is

I’ve started to write this five times and deleted it four. Deep breath. This is a great start. Is it a bit dramatic? Perhaps it’s a bit ominous. It has the same feel as the message that says: Call me, we need to talk. Your stomach and heart trade places like one of those old pseudo-reality shows. There’s some gastrointestinal redecorating, and your hairline turns itself into a tropical rainforest.

Oh no, what’s going on? We’re all Doomed!

What’s more annoying? Calling and getting the dreaded bad news or getting asked out for coffee or something equally mundane. No one wants bad news, but the latter is mildly rage-inducing. You’ve gilded your heart, made an extra therapy appointment, and braced yourself for a gut punch. All of that, for naught. 

Coffee? I’d love to, you absolute piece of…

Guess which one this is? You can’t hear it, but I’m typing this with a vocal lilt and a cheeky grin.

I have a case of writer’s block or post-holiday I don’t wanna’s. A part of me wants to sit down and put words on this page. I want to feel productive and start my new year with a sense of accomplishment. Perhaps, if I’m being whimsical, there’s a determination to get back on track and renew my commitment to this writing, blogging thing I started ages ago.

Ah, that part of me is so naive and innocent. Bless her heart.

I started writing this over a week ago—make that two and a half weeks— and then got distracted. Oo, shiny, sparkly, doodads floating off into the distance. I must follow and abandon any sense of duty, responsibility, accountability, and that dreaded C word.  

I’ve already used it once. Please, don’t make me say it again. Commit…comm…commitment. Blah! Yuck. I just threw up in my mouth. How awful is that? The word and the taste of bile. 

Do I feel a little torn in two? The part of me that’s determined to accomplish something versus the other half that wants to sleep for six months. Absolutely! The urge to put words on the page is strong. I want to say something. Anything, Literally…anything. Words. Come on words, please start wording.

When I access my hyperactive vocabulary, I’ll feel good about myself. It brings out all of the positive emotions. List the happy feeling words in alphabetic order if that fancies your tickle. Yay me, I did something today. I’m not a lazy lump of a human. Go me!

Come on me, let’s do this!

So, I grab my laptop, open a new document, and stare at the blank page for twenty minutes. I want to say everything and nothing. I can’t find the words. I’m overcome by dread and a tad bit of guilt. I can’t think of a single thing to say. I have nothing to say. It’s all noise. A lot of blah blah blah.

Does the world need more blah, blah, sparkle, and bang? All the flash with none of the oomf. Like cheap fireworks someone bought from a damp shed in the middle of nowhere. It makes a startling sound, but the oo and awe lacks luster. There’s an awkward moment of silence that’s broken by some polite applause.

Good try, little buddy. Now come here so I can pat you on the head. No, not in a condescending way, I promise. I’m being endearing. You’ll get em next year. Is champ going too far? Yeah, that’s too far.

So how’s the new year new me crap going, eh?

That’s kind of the problem, I think. At best, it’s a joke between friends. Something we toast to with sarcasm and a knowing wink. You’re still you, and I’m still me. There’s nothing magical about a clock strike and a change in calendar years. We know that we’re not Cinderella or a pumpkin. Nothing will change when we raise our glass and cheer.

But we still hope it will.

We all, to differing degrees, have that tiny sparkle of hope that this magic moment is what we need to make that change. A fresh start. A clean slate. The clock will strike midnight, and everything will be different. I’ll be different. All of those things I’ve been putting off for the last 365.25 days? I’m gonna fix em all. Those promises I made this time last year and completely forgot about? Well, this time is gonna be different because I’m gonna be a new person.

Maybe someone had one too many glasses of something fruity, eh.

Over the holidays, I promised myself that this year was going to be a bit different. Not drastically, I’m a realist, after all. I don’t believe in magic. Some things are impossible, and wishing on a star won’t change anything. Prayer? Shrug, do you, friend. 

It is what it is, is a phrase you’ll hear me say a lot. The good, the bad, and everything that fills the in-between moments. They are what they are. You can accept them as they come or fight them off with a clove of garlic, holy water, and a pointy stick. The choice is yours, but you’re going to be forced to choose because the hits keep coming.

Is that being a realist or a pessimist? Hmm, I think it’s a fine line, and I might be teetering a bit more than I should be comfortable with. After last year, can you blame me for erring on the darker side of life? There aren’t many rainbows and unicorns around these parts. There hasn’t been anything truly good in many, many months.

Should I do a recap? I feel like I should put some context to that last paragraph. If you haven’t read my previous posts? I’ll give you the highlights. If you want more detail, click on the last few ramblings.

So, I’ve had a kidney transplant, and last year, my immune system decided it wanted to evict the thing keeping me alive. Thanks a lot, you useless piece of…grr. I spent the last year having my immune system shut down and slowly rebooted. It physically destroyed me. The side effects are brutal. Every day was a white knuckle grasp at holding on.

Were there days I thought about letting go? I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

And then my dog died. The last good thing I had in my life… Gone.

Well, f**k my life.

Things in my life have settled down, and my blood work has stabilized, for now. My team is happy where things are, and I don’t have to see them as often. It’s been calmer around here, but I’m not ready to trust it yet. There’s another shoe dangling up there somewhere, and it’s on a frayed string.

New year; New me?

I would love to believe in the magic of the clock. It would be amazing if the strike of midnight wiped away the stains of the last year and laid out a clear path forward. Renewed, recharged, and ready for the adventure ahead. If only!

But it is what it is and I can’t change it. I can’t change my body. I can’t stop what’s inevitably coming. I’m waiting for it to hit, but in the meantime? New year. New me? The magic of a clock?

I’m struggling to wrap this up in a nice feel-good bow. I want to find the happy ending, but I’m struggling to find those pesky words. Come on words, please word…

I think there are a lot more people like me this time of year. A few weeks in, the hype is fading, and reality is sinking in. Perhaps you didn’t put much stock in the clock striking midnight. You had that tiny bit of hope, but magic only happens in movies.

Do you still feel disappointed when the party ends, and you’re left with yourself, as you are? Nothings changed. Life is what it is. You are who you are. On it goes. Damn it, I’m a realist, and I know this is going to happen, but…I kinda wanted a little magic.

Anyone else?

I could use a little magic in my life. A wish on a star, or cross my fingers. Maybe I’ll give that other thing a try again. Just a little magic to pull me out of my own way so I can do the things I wanna do. At least, try and enjoy this moment of calm.