I’ve been staring at a blank screen / “page” for about 20 minutes. Nothing.
It’s Christmas Eve and doesn’t feel like it. I feel like anything I write should be full of gratitude – as though the season demands it. And I think this year a lot of people are struggling to muster up gratitude. I’m bummed that I’m not spending the holidays with friends or family. What I am thankful for is that they’re all healthy and safe – and in this crazy year, that’s probably more than enough.
Tonight, is the first Christmas Eve in nearly forty years I did not spend with my dad and stepmom. It feels strange not to be there. To keep some of that tradition alive, I made a spaghetti and mushroom dish – one of my favorite things that my stepmom cooks on Christmas Eve. It turns out they’re ordering a pizza tonight… Mine was a poor imitation of her dish. It was decent but lacked the flavor that I expected. I don’t think I used enough garlic, nor did I cook down the mushrooms enough.
Like thanksgiving, I’m leaning into the fact that I’m not around the people I’d like to be around. I see it as an opportunity to treat myself – maybe it’s the equivalent of eating an entire tub of ice cream in pjs or something like that. Tomorrow, I’m planning a nice breakfast of brioche French toast (and maybe a mimosa), and for dinner it’s a steak in a shallot / butter / wine sauce with wilted greens and mashed sweet potatoes. My friend Stacy seemed impressed that I planned this stuff out. One of the things I’ve learned in my efforts to be the person I want to find is to do for myself the things most people might do as a couple – cook nice meals, take trips, go to shows – celebrate.
Writer’s Block
I’ve been meaning to sit down and write for a few days. I’ve learned that when I get out of practice (as I am now), I struggle to find anything worth writing about. That’s not to say I’ve had much worth writing about before – but at least the words came more easily. They don’t come so easily now. I can’t pinpoint why. Lack of inspiration? Lack of time? Poor discipline? Distracted? Tired? I feel like it could be any and all of those things.
Work has been busy and, at times, stressful. It takes up a lot of my mental energy. It’s usually among the first things I’m thinking about in the morning (which is the time I used to dedicate to writing). It occupies my head space long after I get home – and decompressing usually involves dinner, a glass of wine, texting with a friend or two, talking to my friend Stacy, scrolling social media (even though I hate scrolling social media). I feel pretty useless when I get home – and yet I feel like it’s simply a matter of willpower to try to change these habits. I’m disappointed in my inability to get in a groove – or at least partition my time better.
And I don’t know if it’s work or the constant gray skies or the new contact lenses or the increased screen time, but I’ve gotten a headache almost every day for what feels like forever. I’m not prone to getting headaches – so this is unusual. I don’t know what to do about it. I tend to understate pain – so it’s really tough for me to gauge the severity – all I know is they’ve been more noticeable, frequent, painful, and disruptive than headaches I’ve had in the past. That’s also part of the reason I haven’t written. It’s as if my brain hurts and I just don’t want to (or can’t) focus.
Headache notwithstanding, I felt I should write – if not out of gratitude, out of reflection. While today is Christmas Eve and not New Year’s Eve, it still has that feel of endings and new beginnings… resolutions… attempts to focus or re-focus on things of value, things larger than the self. This time last year, I was visiting family in Philly. I was feeling the sentimentality of the season and its Hallmark tug. I bought a card for my ex and never sent it. I was writing a few poems. I was learning to appreciate being alone. Then, the concept that was larger than self, the sentiment that was front of mind for me was trying to keep an open heart – at all costs and under all circumstances. This year seems to defy expectations, definitions, and summations nicely wrapped with a bow. Maybe that’s why writing has been so hard. Nothing is normal. The tree is up, the stockings hung, I made a dish I always eat on Christmas Eve, but the rituals all fall short. Sometimes, so do the words.