January. The start of a new year. An occasion for new beginnings. I dislike the winter months, but I’ve always had a soft spot for January for its sense of openness and promise—or at least potential.
But the promise or potential of January can be illusory because we cannot predict the future: none of us can know what it holds for us, good, bad, or indifferent.
I think back to January 2005, when I was commuting five days a week to a job in an office downtown. My partner was retired, tending cacti, composing and recording music, writing, and doing the vast majority of domestic chores. He was an excellent cook, and he didn’t mind grocery shopping or cleaning up the kitchen. My biggest gripe with him was the clutter of partially read magazines and books everywhere.
We’d lived in Albuquerque a little less than three and a half years. We were humming along in a groove. Dealing with some car issues, a couple of chronic but manageable health issues of his, and my on-and-off-again dissatisfaction with my job.
In late March, he began feeling more tired and achy than usual, but neither he nor his doctor were alarmed. On the morning of the 30th, he said he felt much better. Before I left for work, he told me what he wanted to fix for dinner. Shortly after 9pm, he was dead. Whatever I had thought about what I might be up to in 2005 did not include responding to the sudden death of my partner of 30 years.
Double Troubles
I think back also to January 2016, when I was about a year and a half into “going public” with Farther to Go! The engine was revving; my sights were set; all systems were go. Patricia was my closest friend in Albuquerque. We had been going on day trips at least twice a month for a couple of years. In January, we drove up to Santa Fe, where we walked around the Plaza, had lunch at the San Francisco Street Bar and Grill, and popped into some favorite shops. I bought a really warm winter hat with tassels on both sides.
We went to the zoo early in February, an unusually warm day. Both of us had been experiencing some odd physical symptoms—sinus issues with me, stomach issues with her—but we were doing well that day. By the third week in February, though, I was having significant trouble breathing. On the 29th, a Monday, I asked her to drive me to the ER. I thought I had an upper respiratory infection.
Instead I was diagnosed with severe mitral valve stenosis, atrial fibrillation/flutter, and congestive heart failure. They admitted me to the hospital and kept me there for a week. I was told I’d likely need to have open heart surgery to have the valve replaced. Over the next year, several ablations attempts were made to stop the flutter. The last one gave me four flutter-free months.
That April, Patricia was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer. Her doctor suggested she had about eight months. He was spot on. She died three days before Christmas.
It’s an understatement to say 2016 didn’t turn out the way I imagined it would. While I’m doing significantly better than anyone predicted, my energy level is permanently diminished—sometimes more so, sometimes less. And I miss Patricia.
When my partner died in 2005, I didn’t have the kind of focus I did in 2016. By the time I was diagnosed, I had determined exactly what was important to me. Vitality was at the top of the list, so I didn’t have to be persuaded to take care of myself. But Farther to Go! was just as important to me. And nearly five years later, both of those things are still at the top of the list.
Last January, none of us saw Covid-19 coming. I think it’s safe to say that the events of 2020 were not on anyone’s list of expectations. I know that wanting to maintain as much vitality as possible and being immersed in Farther to Go! has made it easier for me to cope with the drastic upheaval and uncertainty. It already seems quaint, doesn’t it, to think about how eager we were to change the calendar to 2021? In addition to the continuing ravages of the pandemic, here in the U.S., we have more civil unrest than we’ve had since the 1960s. And we haven’t yet hit the mid-point of the month!
January, I think, is a terrible time to create resolutions, which usually take the form of concrete objectives or self-improvement. But it’s a great time to clarify what’s important to us and to identify desired outcomes: how do we want to change our status quo. There is always more than one way to get a desired outcome. If—or rather when—we encounter the inevitable surprises life throws up, we can adjust course instead of being sidelined. As long as we know where we want to end up, we can keep trying different routes until we get there.
Here’s a virtual toast to what will be lost this year and what will be found.
Bon voyage!
Well said.