I Will Try Not to Sing Out of Key

NOTE: Friends and readers, I started writing this post way back in September. It seems like a lifetime ago, though it was only a few months. At that time, I couldn’t get my thoughts together in a coherent way, so I set it aside. For a variety of reasons, it seems apropos to resurrect it now.

(Despite the fact I am a HUGE Beatles fan, when I typed the title, it was not Ringo Starr I heard singing it, but Joe Cocker a la The Wonder Years. Brains are weird.)

My dear readers, you almost did not get a blog post this weekend, and now that I’ve written just this much, I’m not even sure how much of a post you’re going to get, but here we are. It was one of those weekend where I swear we didn’t have anything planned, then it zipped right by and this is the first chance I’ve gotten to sit down and write. I wish it was fiction I was writing, but that would mean no blog post, and not only does that not seem right, but if I skip one week, then it’s too easy to skip two, then three, then this blog falls by way of my other one, and years from now I’m trying to remember how to login to Blogger to reference an earlier post (NOTE: I realize that I missed posting last week, too. That was part of the hellscape of which I am about to vaguely hint at without actually divulging anything).

Here we are, nearing the end of 2021, and part of the reason I know that is because it’s dark as midnight outside and it’s only 5:30 pm (ish). What a year it’s been, and I don’t mean that in a good way. This year has kicked my ass, and I will spend the first part of 2022 reevaluating everything I thought I knew to be true, and possibly making some very big changes (NOTE: Y’all will still be getting your copies of Whatever Will Be. On that, I give you my word).

Here’s a hard truth about me: I have an extremely hard time trusting and needing people. I’ve always been the sort that allows very few people to get close to me, and when I’ve let you in, you’re kind of stuck. I don’t let go easily. But I’ve spent an absurd number of minutes and hours this year feeling empty and heartbroken by one or more of the people I’ve allowed to get close to me.

I recognize none of this is my fault, and yet… Yet. It reaches the core of all the insecurities all of us have about ourselves. Am I really likeable? If I made a mistake, where was that mistake made? Was it in choosing who to trust? Was it trusting in the first place? Could I have done something different to alter the outcome?

Or maybe all of that is just me.

Despite spending a lot of the year aching deep in my soul for what is lost and what has changed, I have found comfort in others–from some I expected, but in quite a few others who surprised me. The kindness and compassion of others continues to surprise me and I don’t know why this should be so, since I’ve made a valiant effort to surround myself with others for whom kindness and compassion are deeply held values. They are for me.

I realize for those who have fallen short that in every case it’s not their fault. It’s very difficult for me to ask for what I need from people, so I can’t hold them at fault for what they’ve failed to guess. I’m resolved to try to be better at that, especially in the coming months which are likely to be extremely difficult.

The plus side to all of this is that my damaged heart continues to mend. I continue to be hopeful that I can trust in others, even if it’s difficult for me. I continue to find solace in writing, both this blog (this one entry has been quite cathartic) and fiction, which got me through the hardest part of November and (I hope) will continue to help carry me through 2022.

I know my entries here have been spotty, but I’ll take another week off next week (it’s Christmas!) and hit you up in the new year. I look forward to that, much more than you can know.

Until we meet here again, and as always, do what makes you happy.