Choices
I’ve been out and about the last several days, untethered from my computer and the urge to write. Spent time away with friends, listening to music, and socializing. It feels good to wake up with people in the house, a strange house, to move quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers, to find the least used coffee cup, to hear conversations that involve me not at all, in which no burden is attached.
Now I’m back in solitary. It’s me and the house and the cats, and they’re fed. Later this week I’m off to Virginia and a family Christmas. That will be nice, and it’s a longish visit, which makes it doubly nice. Because of the visit, I decided to forgo decorating this old house, and I didn’t sweat the Christmas cards. It’s too early to tell if that was a mistake or not. It feels right, though, as if I’m breaking away from the tyranny of the past, and now I’m setting my own tone by letting someone else drive the holiday.
This is the fifth Christmas since my wife’s passing in 2020. In the first four I was all in on decorating, and I found it helpful. I even had parties to kick off the holidays. These days, however, I feel steadier on my feet, and going away for Christmas feels right, and the holiday will happen whether I light this old house or not. And next year will come as well, no matter what I do, and if I’m here, I can decorate, or not. And it feels good. I’m making my own way, finding my peace, breathing in and breathing out, shaping this new world in which I find myself, picking my spots, doing what I can, when I can.