Christmas: Calm space kind enough to let me breathe. How did Santa treat you folks? Did y’all get the puppy, Billie Eilish gear, PS5, truck nuts, and/or Jack Daniels Fruit Roll-Ups you hoped for. You deserve it.
I found peace this year – in the last few weeks, especially. Reading the Bible (paying attention to nuance objectively). Thinking before I speak. Knee-deep in Stoic philosophy, taking time to be less angry, I root out those who stoke it. Being home, safe, loved – it’s new sanity.
Home now scars heal. Truly heal and time spent refocused on the company made real growth bolt deep. Bitterness oozes soullessness, puss so corosive; a sickness that mutates into an ugly series of awful decisions.
Got mileage without a mate and into a set of rooms where life moves on my schedule. (A schedule.) The schedule is a useful device. (I know a 45-year-old man shouldn’t announce this like saving babies from a school of sharks.) Motivation and drive are useless without a firm foundation to start. Schedules decrease anxiety.
I am persnickedy, Finding a calendar-driven approach to my career built a new peace of mind. Still, this Christmas I recline in quiet. A quiet that signifies comfort.
My parents are good people. My mom saves my life. My father reminds me that humility builds the bridge to success. My stepfather, the minister, my conscious – he keeps my car between the ditches. God is good.
In the wake of Covid, the horror of what left, the ebb from a terrible flow – what I gained is pure calm. “Home” – my people, my favorite people, the escape is work inward.
I felt flawed for too long. That’s my fault. People treat us poorly and that is their fault. Our responsiblity stands now not to be like them. Present for the blood and blood-kin that gave when we didn’t deserve it. Those are God’s chosen.
We try to keep up.
I think I avoided writing after April because it carved out too much. I loved and lost but April left a – void. So, I went full-bull into work. Creative writing, new work, “wasn’t best.” Coming home allowed me to stare it down and sit before the current it spewed swallowed me.
Home: The writing place, the drug rehab, the nut house – “home.” You’ll never hear me hate weakness, sorrow, or the hard road back because that’s the Tool I rock.
Forgive yourself. The year is bent. You are not. Go home. The space that speaks to you is true. Your peace is what’s important. 2021 shows promise. I do. You do. See the home and horizon you cherish. Go there. Find Balance.