Thursday, November 26, 2015
Nothing weighs the most in the heart, which explains why empty hearts are so heavy. Happy people have hearts packed with hopes and dreams and plans, big plans, the best plans. Happy, airy things, so light they almost float.
In their absence the heart loses buoyancy. Full of nothing, it becomes a weight, and the blood it pumps is a dark sludge. Addicts often try to dilute the foul blood; a speed jolt or heroin wave (or a few deep belts from the bottle, or a pile of food) can mimic the happy feeling of a hopeful heart, at least for a little while.
Those days are dead ways for me now. I remind myself of the fact at the start of the strange season for me, the Thanksgiving-to-New Year's Day stretch of a year's journey. It has become tradition to work on Thanksgiving Day (the factory is largely shut down and there is turkey). I like to work the day because the last time I took it off I got dumped. But that was a long time ago, and over the course of the last four years I have come to love and not loathe this season.
It's not because of any person. It's because of every person in my life right now, and the realization that the only hope is hope — strong, enduring optimism, even when the heart is heavy. Especially when it's heavy.
Right now mine is kinda full and sorta light, so it's easy for me to have hope. But true to its numerical billing, 2015 has been an odd year. More bitter than sweet, for reasons both personal and professional. The Even Year could be more of the same.
But I don't think so. Part of it is playing the odds; after a year like this one a change is inevitable. What was bad will fall away. What was good will stay and grow. Or so I hope, and with that thought I feel myself growing lighter. For this I give thanks.