Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

Some things are better left to the pages for my personal journal. And while I might hint to some of the more “tragic” aspects of my life on this blog, there is little to no room for the especially devastating.

In February, I brought up a conversation – the conversation – of possibly being more than just friends. There was little time to process that – for lack of a better word – “rejection,” as the week that followed delivered a devasting blow to my family. The trial we waited two years for ended with a disappointing verdict. This was early March and the news of Covid-19 had already been trickling down into our discussions. We had little time to process that loss as the country faced the pandemic.

For nearly two months, we closed our doors at [redacted]. We planned and revamped our programming for a virtual platform. We were all thrust into role of potential influencers for our patrons as misinformation flooded Facebook feeds.

In the political sphere, things were becoming heated. The idea of fighting the virus became political propaganda by the misinformed militia of Trump supporters. Trump continued to downplay the virus as he spat out lie after lie, empty promise after empty promise. And knowing he was on the road of losing the 2020 presidential election, began feeding his followers the conspiracy of voter fraud.

When his evidential loss happened in November, I knew the election was still far from over. It is now Christmas Eve as I write this post and he still thinks there is a chance that he will win the 2020 election – even though he’s lost every try to undermine the will of the people.

As if to punctuate the craziness that has been 2020 thus far, my aunt and I were in a car accident last week. This year has been an interesting ride, but – and I think I speak for everyone in the room – it’s time we get off it.

If I could, there’s so much I would change about this year. Of all my disappointments, my biggest is not seeing a problem at work sooner. Maybe then the outcome would have been different. But this is a what-if, a regret, that I will have to carry with me until I learn from it and becomes static.

As we seemingly hold our breath, celebrating the holidays differently – together, but apart – let us exhale. If only the for the moment. Let us cherish those we love and the perfect empty moments that we have together. Remember a loved one’s smile and speak their name. For even gone, they’re still just in the other room. Let us remember what made us laugh, gave us joy.

Let us acknowledge our limitations, but let them define us. Let us care for our gardens, create art, read a book, keep written journals. Let us begin to hope again.

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