Holiday Post-Mortem

Remediating ritual deprivation

It’s been a struggle to write much during this time, but, thanks to the London Writer’s Salon, I’ve been able to moor myself to the desk for various sessions of concentration and squeeze out some words when they arrive.

Today I almost threw out all the words I labored over during the past week. I felt like the classic, anachronistic writer at the typewriter with a pile of crumpled papers all over the floor and in the trash bin, scowling with wrinkled brow, a sorry row of empty tea cups sitting on my desk.

But I’m not living within that image this morning; I have one freshly made cup of tea and a glass of water by my laptop. Yes, the desk got a little disorderly in the past week, but it will be easy enough to sort out. I’m writing by the light of one of those glorious sunrises that happens every few months and might be better viewed from a place with a vista, but instead I roamed from the front of the house to the back, iPhone camera in hand, to take a decent shot of the flaming sky through the trees and hanging utility wires.

As to the rumpled papers thrown about, I just copied and pasted 10 paragraphs on a Word document aptly labeled, Holiday Blech, and will leave it there.

The holidays bring their own version of heaviness that comes from growing up in a family that thwarted celebrations of mainstream holidays, particularly ones that were obscenely intertwined with consumerism. Although my older self has appreciated the non-materialist and anti-capitalist intention that my parents had and I have inherited, as a child I was starved for ritual. Without celebratory events of our own, I felt even more left out of the community where Christian hegemony ruled. Singing solos about baby Jesus in the my elementary school’s Xmas choir made me feel like an imposter despite my joy to sing, and I was mocked by family members for being greedy when I wanted to light the menorah, just because candle light charmed me. I didn’t have a substitute tribe because any form of religion was problematic for my family.

I’ve compensated for the dearth of ritual as a child by creating my own, and they give me strength and faith when things look miserable in so many corners of the world. When I was very young, I had secret rituals with the more than human in our yard: the birds that visited, the trees that I confided in, and the magic represented by all the seeds planted every spring. As an adult, I’ve been co-creating many rituals, eclectic mixes of candle-lighting, latke feasts, bonfires where regrets are released and intentions are formed, sitting meditation with our sangha, dances, and special hikes.

This year the sangha remains my anchor, and we shared latkes with them last week, lit the menorah, laughed and did the best we could, although B-Z was absent due to intense fatigue. Social things are not working for him right now, and I’ve made peace with that.

B-Z and I have never made a big deal about NYE. When we first got together 34 years ago, it was a relief to not have to worry about what would be celebratory to do. Just being together was enough. Although an occasional event might have pulled us out of the house, I can barely remember one, and I feel no loss in that. I don’t even get wistful about my energetic 20-something self, who on one particular NYE, roamed lower Manhattan with a small group of artist cronies, moving from bar to party to bar. It was more desperation than joy that informed that night, and it makes me both weary and self-compassionate to have carried the FOMO of youth in that way.

We went to sleep around 10:30 pm this NYE, like we do most nights, give or take a half hour. We had spent most of the evening working with B-Z’s energy healer, D, and it was delightful to hear D going through the midnight hour in Miami Beach, taking a break to kiss his wife, and return to the work of reducing pain for B-Z. Listening to their soothing dialog was enough for me, along with sweet texts from friends on the east coast. Time traveling into their midnight had a celebratory feel, and I was most grateful that the local war zone outside from fireworks could not compete with the traumatic explosions that L was experiencing in NOLA. On social media, I saw photos of friends dancing, the local light show event in downtown, and felt happy for everyone out and about, and was not at all envious.

Our son S likes to use the word “acquiesce” a lot, but that’s not what I’m doing in this cancer journey. I’d rather call it “finding a way through.” As the journey continues, it’s possible I’ll be doing more “diving through the pain,” but I’m not there now, and I’m determined to stay with the present moment, and make peace with it.

It’s not the life I imagined, but when I look at the options and make a list of what I’m grateful for, it becomes easier and easier to compost any bitterness that arises. AND I abhor that flavor. Despite many crashed dreams, it’s a life full of rich connections and unexpectedly warm relationships. It’s an immensely creative life, full of new titles, phrases, images, languages, questions, and ideas. I have a body and senses that are still welcoming the sunrise, eager and curious for what the more than human can teach me, as I experiment with new ways of assembling a day in the slower pace of this moment. The latter alone is a huge privilege in this world and is not something that I take for granted.

Everyday collapsing systems echo through my psyche; we witness them, experience them, and must process them somehow. I used to take that energy into activist projects and collaborations, but there’s no energy or capacity for that now, other than this keyboard as a soapbox of sorts. I will stay true to that purpose this year, as my book evolves, along with many digressions that call me. In this process, I recognize every day as a chance to remake my vision of my life and the rituals that carry me and my relations through this time in the world. Sometimes, I see this process as a blurry one, but it is still full of potential.

I want to wish my new readers a Happy New Year, and I want to thank you for joining me in the past few months. I started writing this substack to warm up for the work of writing my book, and that’s still the intention of this blog. I welcome any feedback you have to offer.