Perfection is the enemy of good. That’s how the saying goes, isn’t it? I’d take the time to look it up but that’s kind of antithetical to what I’m writing about today. As is typical for me by now, when the year rolled over I glanced at my neglected network of blogs and committed to do better by them in the coming year. I even created a Trello board called “editorial calendar” that has three lists of topics, and I promised myself I’d write three posts a week.
That was three weeks ago. As you can see, no blog posts as of yet.
I almost opened up my editorial calendar to see what I should have written about in this blog on Monday three weeks ago, but I decided not to. I just wanted to get some words down. Get things moving. Get some momentum.
That would certainly be a nice change after 2020.
Don’t get me wrong. In a lot of ways, if I’m being honest, 2020 was pretty good to me personally. I lost more weight. My wife and I committed to making some serious inroads into our financial future and we have done so. I kept up my walking routine and completed a good number of virtual distance challenges. I’ve remained alcohol-free. I listened to a lot of books and podcasts. My team and I have received many accolades and are held up as being highly influential employees in the organization. I’ve continued to go to therapy every two weeks, and I’ve really learned a lot about myself as a result.
But, of course, 2020 was 2020. Pandemic. 45. Dogs and cats living together. Mass hysteria. We’re coming up on a year since the lockdowns began, and all the related factors are of course impacting all of us, and I’m not immune to that. The virus has mutated and that version is making the rounds, so it looks like another extended period of extreme lockdown.
I’m also writing this 10 days before the second anniversary of Christopher’s death, and almost a week after what should have been his 20th birthday. We continue to do our best to heal, to be there for each other, to figure out what life is supposed to even look like now in what we refer to as the “after.” It’s been hard. It will continue to be hard. Most of the people around us probably don’t even think about his suicide when they think about us, and that’s completely normal, but it’s still very much a part of who we are now. Part of who we will always be.
I don’t mean to be maudlin here, and I don’t feel like what I wrote above doesn’t even qualify for that if I’m being honest. It’s not a sad fact. It’s just a fact. It is, as my step-son says, what it is.
So there is a post. I hope there are more to follow. That I keep up the momentum. At this point I have to agree with my Mother, who loves to say that as long as she keeps moving she keeps living. She’s living proof that is true, so all I can do is hope to emulate her.