"If years were seasons, this December / Would be the December of our December"
To quote that one time Abed rapped on Community
This December is the Decemberiest December that ever Decembered. This is what I keep telling friends every time something weird happens. By that I mean things like: bars having lines or being full up to the brim with people, because apparently this last weekend was the last time every young person could hang out with every other young person. But I also claimed it to mean anything that feels like a casting off, or running down a deadline, or an unconscious slowing down to an almost stop.
Basically, it’s the end of the year like never before. Forget New Year’s resolutions — this year, it’s about blank slating before the new year even starts. It’s about stuffing as much joy with family and friends in the time and season for family and friends as possible. It’s about how Christmas Eve and Christmas are both on a weekend this year, and whatever your faith, we need that federal holiday.
Americans especially fight tooth and nail to decompress on every federal holiday they can find. See, when you understand that Americans need federal holidays because we don’t have real holidays and can’t have real vacations because either you have a job or you need a job during, you can understand an American calendar. Here’s my hypothesis: January is Monday, February is Tuesday, and Presidents’ Day to Memorial Day — when there are no federal holidays — is the long, frightful Wednesday. Actually, Memorial Day to Labor Day is also Wednesday. I guess Memorial Day is like the lunch break? And then Labor Day to Thanksgiving is Thursday, and Thanksgiving to the week of Christmas is Friday. The week of Christmas to New Year’s is the true weekend, when capitalism finally slows down.
That is all to say that this end of year feels especially fraught because of the pandemic. As I wrote a while ago, we’re in Act III of the pandemic. Act III is slowly ending, and everyone is running around like it’s musical chairs and everything about the world will finally be fully reset when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s.
At least, that’s how it feels to me. But of course life will keep changing and surprising us after that, and likely until then.
But there’s an absolute need for it to be a deadline, for this story of the pandemic — ongoing though it is, in some ways — to end, so the rest of history can begin.
So while it may or may not be a true ending, it does carry what every ending has: the tender sorrow of what was versus what could have been. So this December will be the time for us to do what many of us might’ve been avoiding: sitting with our feelings.
Well, maybe you haven’t. But I’ve certainly been avoiding it. Not because I didn’t want to, even, but I just…couldn’t. My feelings, these past few years, have felt like the monsters of Cthulu, the deep disturbing fish you find in the underworld of the sea, the creepiest crawlies to ever creep over your feet at night, when you can’t see. And to feel them fully would be like succumbing to setting myself on fire.
But now…I can remember 2020, without immolating myself in it. I can remember my brain leaking out of my ears, the pain that threatened to crush my chest, the long December of my soul. I have wanted to reckon with it for a while, but I didn’t have the tools or the stamina to do so.
And it means accepting that my understanding of myself has forever changed, and then solidified, like lava that falls in the ocean, and cools immediately. From one state, to another.
It’s funny to talk about sitting with your feelings, because I’ve always felt like it was an important task, but I’ve also realized how much other people don’t do it. I love to grow and change, I love to challenge myself and improve. Sometimes to my detriment, as I’d get a little too into the noble suffering aspect. When I first read the condensed illustrated classic of Little Women, I related most to Beth — right up until she fucking dies. I knew, when I read that, that I’d be learning that lesson — of giving too much, of longing to give more — right up until it got to me.
And what sucks is that when I think about it, I can’t really get a handle on Beth’s personality. Because I knew, really, that I wasn’t like Beth — or even Meg, or Jo, or Amy. I was a random other assortment of personality traits, the kind you can’t really find in a children’s book set around the Civil War.
I think sitting with your feelings also means embodying your full self. It means letting every little twinge or annoyance, every sweeping heart rise and flutter of fondness, every grievance and mild irritant have its day, its moment. It means letting the ocean of your spirit crash against the sandbar of reality over and over again, knowing that each time you will come back, somewhat changed. But you’ll come back, saltier than ever.
Despite it being the end of the year, and I guess this sounding like the end of a year post, I do have a few more posts I want to send out, including an interview with writer Toni Ann Johnson, and a list of holiday movie recommendations.
Also, apparently that one line from Abed has huge lore in the Community forums? This is what I found when I went looking for the exact lyrics.
Happy January of the week!
Sulagna
Your calendar of the year is perfect 😂