Blessings and Curses

    Whelp. It’s been a long time since I’ve put a figurative pen to paper. The rants and introspections still happen, but more frequently as non sequiturs at a dinner table or full volume through my windshield. My last published post was July 2011 and my most recent draft was in 2020. I’ve fallen out of practice, I fear. Still, I’ve found my mind wandering back to this space. Re-reading some of my posts is an interesting time capsule. I can actually remember where I was when writing some of those. I have a clear memory of writing the post about the iPhone in Chipotle at Reston Town Center and I think I was rage-typing on the iPhone I was supposed to dislike. Other posts, I scarcely remember what riled me up. I can hear the younger-me in the writing. He was a different person. He was a different kind of happy. He was a different kind of frustrated. His optimism hadn’t really been tested. He was very young.

    I hope current-me can find a similar flow.

    Umpteen years is a big bite to try and write out. Especially so when much has happened and so little really matters but it’s all important. I moved to Florida for a bit in what was probably equal parts cowardice and petulance and catastrophic optimism. I moved out of Florida not long after. I got a good job afterward–almost precisely on by birthday!--and I found it interesting, I liked it, and it let me buy a home. Then, some bad luck, misguided choices, another splash of catastrophic optimism, and I lost that job. Fortunately, I got another job that I liked even better. TERRIBLE hours, but the pay was good, office politics were easy, and I truly enjoyed the responsibilities. Then I broke my leg. If you imagine a “Bloomin’ Onion” from Outback Steakhouse, you’ll have a decent visual for what the MRI revealed. Yadda, yadda, healing and recovery and now I have a new job that checks a lot of boxes and might, actually for-realsies, be one that sticks for a career.

    That said, it’s an uncomfortable realization to be rolling up on 40 years old and only just getting my feet underneath me again. Literally. This might be the first time I’m not among age-peers or the FNG. I’m older than some of my coworkers’ parents. I’ve had people ask if I dress as Santa…my beard is not that gray, I tell myself. The question is sweet and well-intentioned. I’m not offended in the least. Though it does push me to start confronting the “next phase” of my life. 

    I’ve heard people curse the aging process. Sure, there are some downsides. The floor feels a lot farther away now than it did just a couple of decades ago. I rarely hurt myself from work or exercise, but “sleeping wrong” will leave me whining for days. There are some blessings mixed in, too. I don’t rattle easily. I’m comfortable asking questions. I can anticipate issues. I have enough life experience to give advice. 

    Blessings and Curses. We typically celebrate one and lament the other. My thesis is these phenomena are not actually so far removed. My first realization of this was after breaking my leg. My injury was unfortunate, but it happened during the only 6-month period in 40 years when my parents lived in a handicapped-accessible home. It was cramped and inconvenient to absorb me and the associated medical equipment into that home, but doing so allowed for some mutual support during what I hope will forever be the Worst Christmas Ever™.

    Months of healing and quietude gives space for a different sort of introspection than I’ve tried before. And, for better or worse, having a pretty thorough transcript in my head of every difficult or embarrassing moment gives more than a few opportunities to explore the proximity of my blessings and curses. It’s been a struggle. I have many regrets. I have a few wins. But the main takeaway for me is every handful of curses is, eventually, directly related to a blessing. It’s not because I pray, though I have. It’s not because I’m special, because I’m not. I think it’s because I’m patient. 

    “Patient” isn’t quite right, though. “Patient” can be interpreted as inactive. “Patient” can look like “lazy”. The proper application of patience is waiting for the dust to settle before reacting. Patience is remembering a falling knife has no handle. Patience helps to keep my head above the stress and look for opportunities. Patience helps me to be watchful for the blessings. 

    My struggles have eventually revealed themselves to be opportunities for me to grow and to learn. Even if I don’t always like the lesson, I’m better for it. Little by little, I can improve myself. I can improve my outlook. Instead of cursing and swearing at the obstacle, I start looking for the way to overcome it. I look for a way to turn my curses into a blessing. It helps to keep me grounded. It gives me a way to remember I can’t control the things that happen and I can control how I respond.