it's 32° in florida. an insane nor'Easter came through last night, toppling trees and bringing Christmas weather with it. it's cold enough for snow, for the little puddles in the parking lot to be ice, except it's not because the ground is too warm. i will never get over how warm the sun is here in Florida, how well you can feel it in the dead of winter.
i slept with the windows open last night. this morning i decided to make some coffee and go for a walk, donning my boston-bought winter wear that i have almost tossed so many times in the last 3 years of florida. i went slowly, taking it all in - the silence, the magic. Christmas is still magic. i'm not planning on an early morning walk next year because 2020 has proven that things don't have to stay the same for them to be good. there won't be many traditions in my life, moving forward. tradition can be good but it can be an idol of unrealistic expectations leaving disconsolate people in it's wake and reaping ruin on what should be a joyous occasion.
i'm thinking about death right now, how my coffee got cold so quick in my cup, like all earthly things pass away. what is life but loss? we are continually losing things - people, hair, jobs, time, patience. all is lost eventually. the glorious gift of 2020 was the pace of living so slow, each loss was exquisite, each loss was magic. i took my time with each one. would you pass quickly by a perfect snowflake? would you not at least pause to marvel at a perfect sunset or try to capture it in picture? i was fully aware of each loss, took them to heart, wrote them down, honoured them and processed them. i discovered that half of what makes loss sad is how quickly it seems to creep up on me, when in reality the signs were there all along had i not been too busy to notice [or intentionally not noticing]. 2020 i finally learned how to be a good loser. to see loss coming and to hold still in reverence and awe. to let loss happen to me instead of trying to avoid it. to integrate loss into my everyday living, to leave space for the grief, relief, or any other emotions that accompanied it. 2020 i learned how to say goodbye.
i've been a sore loser my entire life. i recite my losses like a litany: the friends i no longer speak to, the dancing i can't do, the trail running that is physically beyond me, the muscle mass i spent years accumulating, the perfect group of friends for camping that have since moved on, the choir i was a part of, the list goes on and on. i hold my hurt close to my chest as i berate God for not healing me. i cry about my pain while refusing to step into it.
no more.
2020 has changed me forever.
nothing is going back to normal.
nothing will ever be the same.
i will make sure nothing stays the same.
i feel so clearly the call to disrupting systems; anarchy is in my bones, in my blood, imprinted next to my baptismal and confirmation marks on my soul. i look at well established order and i think, how beautiful it would be in the breaking, how breathtaking is the falling apart. i want to destroy everything because nothing is supposed to remain unchanged for 50 or even 10 years. earthly existence is like a river, continually flowing, sometimes remaining in the same place, gradually changing over time….but is it the same water? it is not the same water. it is different, every time. nothing gets me going faster than the phrase "this is how it's always been done". i will make sure, it doesn't stay that way. i want -
just because something is good doesn't mean you shouldn't break it can't change it.
death is my friend.
the ending is my friend.
loss is my friend.
loss was never meant to be a period, a full stop; it is a comma, a gentle separation between an end and a new beginning.
i learn to speak about myself in the third person and apply the same terms to my life. look at rachel, falling apart - isn't she beautiful? look at rachel struggling through 2020 - aren't you mesmerized by how she keeps getting back up after getting knocked down? it must be hard for her. she is doing, such a good job.
but whatever gain i had i counted as loss for the sake of Christ. [philippians 3:7]
happy birthday to the only person born to die. if you need me, i will be making space to mourn the end of advent while celebrating the birth of the Christ Child. it can be both. make it both.
