I always feel a bit wistful once Christmas has passed. In the weeks leading up to the big day, I listen to Christmas music on repeat, make sure that the tree is decorated, and tend to the odds and ends of decorating the house to make sure that it’s appropriately festive – in addition to braving the crowds and finding the last minute gift that has invariably slipped my mind.
This year was no exception. I picked my son up from Indiana just a few days before the holiday. My girlfriend spent Christmas with our family for the first time. And the new place I’ve rented was bustling with activity and family more so than it ever has been. So, there were a lot of firsts this holiday. And in the rush to pull off the big event, I found it difficult to remain present and soak up the memories that were being made amid the chaos.
But that’s the funny thing about time. There’s no pause button. And time doesn’t care whether we were able to soak up the moments or not. Try though I might, I can’t grasp the sands of time and put them back atop the hour glass. They fall with a constant flow and the best we can do is appreciate the seconds as trickle away.
I suppose this is true of life more broadly. When I think about Christmas a year ago, I had no idea what the new year had in store. I came to OK from Indiana, rather than living here. And my girlfriend who joined us for the holiday, I didn’t know she existed. I suppose it’s true that I could have grasped at the sand but I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate all of the good that was still to come. So, while it’s not possible to hit pause on time, one wonders if it’s even worth the bother.
We simply don’t know what tomorrow holds. Trying to hang on to what has passed hinders our ability to embrace the future. So, I guess that while I’m still a bit wistful that Christmas 2024 has come and gone, I can’t help but be hopeful for all that lies ahead. As this year draws to a close, and a new chapter begins, it seems appropriate to sup some coffee, and smile for all of the memories we made.
When I left Tucson six months and one week ago (5/25/20), it never occurred to me that I would remain in Oklahoma past August. And yet, one half-year later, here I am.
In that time, I’ve lived out of a suitcase for the bulk of it. I’ve transitioned my work from a laptop to an iPad. I’ve done the entirety of my job at a small wooden desk in my childhood bedroom. I feel a bit transient but none the worse for wear. This weekend, I’ll return to Tucson to pack up my belongings and make the move to what once was home.
There’s certainly no complaint on my part. Tucson rents were going up. So were the COVID-19 cases. With no end in sight to the pandemic, my apartment effectively became an expensive storage unit. My employer granted a provisional approval to work remotely, at least for the duration of the pandemic. Moving seems prudent. I leave for Arizona on Saturday to begin packing with the move to Oklahoma to follow.
No Place Like Home?
Aside from the move itself, I can’t say that I really know what the next chapter will hold – except that for the next several months it will surely be lived here. Despite my penchant for planning, I’m not even sure that having a plan matters very much anymore. If I’ve learned anything from this year, it’s that plans can be upended as quickly as they can be made. It’s fair to say that 2020 brought with it unexpected change for nearly everyone. We adapt when we can. We muddle along when we can’t. We humans are nothing if not resilient.
Still…
Perhaps I’m getting sentimental in my old age, but I can’t help thinking about how odd it is to move during the holidays. Normally, Christmas is the time to stay grounded, to enjoy time with family, and even to reminisce about Christmases long past – those halcyon memories that get etched in the mind and seem more vibrant somehow than the memories we are in the midst of making.
When considering the past, it’s always tempting to believe that it was brighter than it actually was. I think part of this temptation stems from the fact that there are realities about the present that we wish were different. For my part, with the move looming, I’m forced to reconsider what home is. When I think of past Christmases, I tend to think about the family home place. My Grandpa in his recliner. An ancient music box blaring Christmas carols while the tree lights blink in merry colors of the season.
But this is almost literally looking at home through rose-colored lenses. Yule-colored lenses might be more appropriate. The fact is, the memory above is long gone, and it does no one any good to live in the past. The present reality is that, until this extended stay, I haven’t lived in Oklahoma in roughly twenty years. True, I’ve gotten reacquainted with the people in our small town, and there’s no question that I have enjoyed being with my family. But I do wonder if I can fairly say that this is still my home.
Embracing Uncertainty
I suppose I won’t really know the answer to this question until some time has passed. Predicting the future is a fools errand. And even while the mind is hardwired to predict the future, actually living in so aware a manner proves to be much more difficult. When 2020 began, I had wished a new decade would usher in positive changes and the hope for a better year than the personal hell that was 2019. For many, I think 2020 was probably worse than any single year in the past ten. The mind may try to predict what will happen in a given situation and respond accordingly, but it’s exactly the inability to predict (or plan) that causes anguish for so many. To state matters briefly, even the best plans can fall apart.
So, maybe a plan isn’t the way to go for this next chapter of life. For all I know, the pandemic could end this spring and I may be back in Tucson just in time for school to start in August. Planning also has a limiting factor: we tend to ignore other possibilities when we are focused on a particular course of action. I don’t think this is intentional. It’s just a reality that we can only entertain so many ideas and outcomes at once. The lesson I take from this season of life is that our ability to tangle with uncertainty is the key to finding contentment.
In truth, there never are any certainties. Never were. We just live with a set of assumptions and hope for the best.
Pax Plena 