It’s July 4. I grilled a burger. I sat on the deck and drank a beer. That’s as close to the traditional July 4 celebration as I got this year. By 9pm, I was tired, bored, and ready for bed. As I get older, I care less and less for this holiday. The fireworks, while pretty, aren’t great for the environment. They disturb a lot of pets (thankfully, my dog is chill about it). This year, they’ve caused several wildfires out west. Additionally, there are entire segments of the American population that don’t care for independence day because not everyone was free in 1776. Our high-minded ideals were built on the backs of slaves and at the expense (and decimation) of entire indigenous cultures. But that’s not this post.
For many years, my wife and I went to a friend’s place on the 4th. Well, it was his parent’s place. They did the cook out and lit off a ton of fireworks. We always brought a tray of brownies. We drank beer and hung around. The friend’s mom would walk around and say “this is the best year yet.” Every year. When my wife and I decided to get divorced, we told people (quietly and in private conversations) at the July 4th party. She moved out on the 5th. I went to the party on my own a few times after that. I took the ex-fiancee to one of the parties. By the following year, we were no longer a couple… and then there was COVID. I don’t think my friends have had the party since.
What I didn’t mention in my post about feeling bummed this weekend was how holidays, even ones I may not care for, sometimes get me down. They bum me out because many of the traditions I’ve had for significant parts of my life have been broken. There was a time when my wife and I would go to a memorial day bbq each year. That couple got divorced and the bbqs ended. For a while we would go to parades because our daughter was in marching band. She graduated and we eventually got divorced. Every summer my family would rent a shore house – usually around the week of my birthday. My dad and brother stopped talking to each other and now everyone goes their own way. Fall weekends were dedicated to Penn State football games… again, the falling out broke that up, and my moving away didn’t help. And of course, COVID disrupted lots of things.
While I’m one of the fortunate people who didn’t lose anyone to COVID, I did lose my sense of place. I haven’t really found my bearings since. I don’t think I’m alone in this post-pandemic confusion. I think a lot of people got lost and we’re still trying to understand what normal looks like. For many that has meant returning to routines and traditions… For me, aside from Thanksgiving, none of the traditions I had prior to COVID and prior to moving away have survived. Admittedly, moving away had a lot to do with some of those disruptions, but it seems that everyone I know from back then is in a different place and space now. I don’t expect some of those traditions and/or relationships to ever come back – which is all part of the moving on process. Normal is going to be what I make of it. Sometimes I have trouble deciding what I want to make of it. Sometimes I miss what it used to be.