I’m sitting amongst the toys and leftover Christmas garbage that I’m supposed to be cleaning up for a New Year’s Eve party I volunteered to have weeks ago but I am not cleaning. I don’t want to clean and I don’t want to have a party. I do want to jump into a new year with a fresh perspective and uplifted heart but I don’t know if I can. I want to sleep.
2018 was a good year. In fact, I felt some guilt during most of it because for what seemed like a victorious year for my family seemed so awful for many others. Minorities in America. Refugees all over the world. My boss and his family. The Buffalo Bills- again. We overcame a lot though, and even accomplished the once-deemed impossible: homeownership. And then I lost a baby and suddenly 2018 was a nightmare.
I started to think about how “the 8’s” are bad years for me, personally. In 1998, I faced the ultimate junior high identity crisis, betrayed by the friends I had been closest with since I was a kid and forced outside of my comfort zone. Of course, it was for the best because those bitches sucked, but living it as an insecure 14-year-old was hard. I made new friends- more friends than I ever would have been allowed to have in my old crowd. I went to acting camp that summer- ACTING CAMP. I met one of my best friends and found something I loved to do, and was good at, too. I found some confidence and peace. I found my young identity in 1998- along with a greater empathy for others and a lot of great music to help me through it all.
In 2008, my boyfriend of three years broke up with me over the phone from overseas. We had a life together- an apartment together- a storage unit together. My instincts told me something was off and I was right. There were a lot of issues there. I was devastated. As a 24-year-old, I had to move back home (again!) I had been laid off in the super great recession and was looking for a job, on top of all of it. I couldn’t let him go, but I knew I had to find some way to move forward. I clung tightly to friends and family and had a nice little social life. But 2008 was a dark time. In early 2009, I reunited with my now-husband, and you know the rest.
So here we are on the 8 again, and 2018 ended badly for me. It actually began badly too, but I survived that. I am surviving this. I just don’t want to have a party. At least I should be good for another 10 years after Monday.