Conventionally, one posts this sort of post a little closer to January 1st. A month in the blogsphere is an eternity, and it's been closer to three since my last post. However, time is not a straight line, conventionality is nothing to aspire to, and therefore you should forgive the giant lapse between posts, and also the self-absorption of today's post. Rebeccaland is supposed to be some kind of outside manifestation of my insides, after all, and while usually the landscape of my insides draws a lot more from the outside, right now from my vantage point that landscape looks pretty barren, and my insides are all dark and red and squishy. I promise to send my insides for a long scenic walk before my next post. Anyway, I'm afraid if I don't post something soon my blogging aspirations will atrophy completely.
In retrospect it seems like 2012 was kind of a crap year for me, except for the bits that were awesome (there are always awesome bits). There was a pretty long stretch in the middle of the year that was relatively uneventful. However, what makes my 2012 memorable is that it began with a cancer scare, and ended with...look, I tried to think of some way to write this that didn't sound cliche, but the problem with love is that it's all cliche unless you're living it, so I'm just going to embrace the cliche. My year ended with a broken heart.
I found out last January that I had a thyroid mass that was constricting my airway and might have been cancer. I had surgery, then developed several very unpleasant complications.
But. I didn't have cancer. I was supported by many wonderful friends, family, and colleagues. I did eventually fully recover. Insurance covered more than I expected. The scar healed beautifully.
In September, I fell in love. I was happier than I've ever been. A life that looked bigger and better than I hoped and dreamed and prayed for seemed within reach. But on New Years Day, I was alone again, with a life that seemed so, so much smaller.
But. I loved, and was loved. God willing, it won't be the last time.
Last year, I learned that I am stronger than I think I am, and also much more fragile. I learned that often, the most comforting thing is just a silent hug (and sometimes it's a box full of sumo wrestler rubber duckies). I learned that losing love hurts worse than having your throat slit (and takes longer to heal), but given a choice, even in hindsight, I'd choose love.
"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant."
-The Doctor, "Vincent and the Doctor", Doctor Who
Speaking of landscapes, here is Van Gogh's "Kornfeld mit Zypressen", courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Its colors remind me of Arizona in the winter. Van Gogh knew more than I do about suffering--and about beauty.
.jpg)
