I just finished putting up my Chreestmas tree, along with accompanying lights and bulbs and glittery things. Rather than listening to Christmas carols, I was listening to Dan Savage talk about dicks and the new Mormon gay policy. Savage makes excellent festive company. Highly recommended.
As I sat back to admire my luminous handiwork, being the sentimentally existential skeptic I am, I couldn’t help but reflect on previous years’ Christmases, and last year in particular. If you had told me last year that I would be where I am this year, I would have picked up my Christmas lights and strangled you with them out of sheer disbelief. Okay, maybe I would have only thrown sharp objects at you, but the point (so to speak) remains. It would have seemed impossible.
Because the unexpected shift in life direction has to do with many personally sensitive subjects, both for me and others whose privacy I respect, I won’t dive into the sordid details. I don’t think they really matter anyway. This isn’t the first time I’ve watched my anticipated life path shift dramatically and unexpectedly in an entirely different direction. And each time that happens, I find myself a little sad, a little confused, and a little saltier about life (fuck you, BYU!).
Just kidding. It’s actually been the opposite. Alongside the bittersweet windstorm of major life changes is this overwhelming gratitude that things have turned out the way they have. That, when the debris settles and I start putting myself back together, the shape my life takes is actually better for the explosions along the way.
This isn’t to say I believe in destiny. It might simply be a matter of optimistic perspective, or a basic lack of regret due to basic lack of a soul. But as tacky as it sounds, the times I have followed my gut and done what I felt to be right, even if it was really fucking hard, I have been grateful of the consequences. Let’s hope that’s an going thing.