Honey, I’m home!
I spent nearly a week in New York City, my hometown, and got back home late Tuesday night. Last week was a blur, and I while tried to get a post up before we left, it just did not happen. And that’s okay — sometimes we don’t get all the things checked off of our to-do list and you know what? It’s not the end of the world. Doesn’t mean we’re losing our edge (although I have a cold/sinus infection thing from traveling apparently, so I most definitely have lost my edge).
Anyways, I’m back and I’m still processing what felt like a whirlwind and also very long trip. I ate as many bagels and pizza slices as humanly possible in six days, and I have no regrets… with the exception of not packing any extra bagels in my suitcase to take home. Oh well! (But seriously if anyone’s reading this in NYC and wants to mail me some, my mailbox is open.)
I had been so looking forward to this trip, in a way I have honestly not looked forward to anything (nothing) in a really, really long time. Haven’t been excited — genuinely, feel-it-in-your-bones excited — in so, so long. I am usually a naturally very optimistic person, but the last 19 months have poked all sorts of holes in my shiny armor, and I found myself feeling almost sure that something would happen that would prevent my husband and I from actually boarding that plane. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it’s felt like nothing good can last anymore. I know that sounds depressing, but that’s how I’ve felt, since losing my mom and dealing with this ongoing pandemic 💩-storm. Needless to say, making it to the airport and onto that plane, as uncomfortable and anxiety-inducing as traveling makes me now in this Covid world, was like releasing a big breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. A sigh of relief. Like, “OK, we are really doing this!”
We booked this trip in the summer to spectate at the New York City Marathon, back when I still considered myself a runner and thought I’d be able to run in Central Park every day while we were in town. Even the fact that I can’t run anymore due to my knee couldn’t rain on my parade. I was still so eager to be there — frankly just to be doing something that felt normal, and be somewhere where I have always felt like myself. Because I have not felt completely like myself in months… almost years at this point. But New York! The place I grew up and returned for grad school, that has so many memories and mental snapshots dotted along every street, every stoplight. I needed to be there.
That first day, we wandered around Central Park, my favorite place, and saw a play (Wicked!) that night, followed by a late dinner at a diner, and at some point on the walk home, it occurred to me that I was so damn happy. Even with jet lag and lack of sleep from taking a red eye, it was the best day I’d had since the moment I found out my mom had cancer, in the middle of March 2020. I could cry just thinking about it (although maybe that’s because I’m also blasting Taylor Swift’s Red album, Taylor’s version, while typing this). The absolute best.
This may sound sort of silly, but I’ve found it really difficult to have fun since losing my mom, which I’ve only recently realized and even more recently acknowledged. I’m not sure if this is something common for people who’ve had a great loss or are grieving, but gosh… over a year later, and I still feel like I have a padded wall up that instantly bounces back any fun over a certain threshold, so I can’t possibly lose myself in joy. As if I always have to be mentally on, just in case some new tragedy happens — ready, always, so I can never be caught so off guard again. Not that I ever thought life was forever or free of pain (I have a chronic illness for goodness sake — I’ve been up on the reality of mortality since I was 2), but still… there are some things you just think will never happen to you, and it’s a terrible feeling to realize you were wrong. Anyways, it’s been hard to lose myself in a moment or to truly enjoy anything, and I get that that sounds sort of sad and pathetic maybe but it’s not like I’ve been swimming in a pool of misery for months; I’ve felt mostly content and close to back to normal (as much as you can be after losing your #1 person) — just not 100%. Nothing has seemed to help (therapy, getting drunk, you name it) so perhaps this a thing that only time heals. But! When I was in New York, I had a couple days where I felt like my cup was totally full. It was all kinds of wonderful to remember what that felt like.
And so… I’m back home. I’m back and I’m going to try and work on keeping that feeling going. Try to get back to a higher vibration, energetically, and how I’m going to accomplish that…. um? Not sure, but probably more pushing myself out of my comfort zone and doing things that remind me of life in the before times. Although please know, if you changed during these last 19 months, that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be negative, in fact, I’d say for many of us, the pandemic and living this weird new lifestyle has created a new perspective and appreciation for the things that matter most to us. No reason to let that go. 💛
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I hope you have a lovely weekend, and if you need me at 4pm today (7pm ET), I’ll be watching the “All Too Well” film Taylor Swift created for the extended version of the song of the same name (my fav) because I am that level of dedicated to her music. It’s fineeee.
Thanks for reading!
Joelle