Visiting ghosts and the promise of a new decade
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 26, 2019
- 1046
I sat and counted on my fingers how many decades I’ll have the privilege of existing inside of when Father Time turns the hand on that big clock this week. The answer is seven. I’m Generation X, that churning of years that sped by in between the Boomer and Millennial generations. My worldview was shaped by heavy metal, Vietnam movies and believing we’d be blown up by a Russian nuclear weapon.
I’m not a goal-setter, and I wish I was. I’m practical, and I usually frown on all lists that people make when New Year’s Eve rolls around. This decade we’re entering seems different, more important in the grand scheme of my life than any other. My bones settle, reminding me my dad was born in the Roaring '20s. If he were still here on earth, he’d turn 100 years old this decade.
Dad was born in the Silent Generation, the one shaped by the Depression where you wasted not and wanted not, as well being seen but not heard, a notion I railed against when I was young. While I definitely don’t need to be seen, I do need to be heard.
Maybe a list is in order.
I had a sleepless night last night until 2 a.m. circled round. I awoke before 6 a.m. to sit in my darkened kitchen, coffee in hand as I contemplated. My bed sheets had been a prison as I tussled with all the fears nighttime can bring: worries on financial security, wrong decisions I’d made, what I can do to be better, my own mortality.
The velvet darkness haunts, making all thoughts bigger than they ever are in the light of day. I startled awake as my alarm rang me, and it seemed I’d been cleansed from the horrors of my dead-of-night ghoulishness. I felt a bit like Ebenezer Scrooge awakening abruptly on Christmas morning to find he still had a chance to do better. I didn’t yell out my window to ask what day it was, in case you were wondering.
My list for the coming decade, starting with 2020, is a short list.
The first one is being intentional. This word has been — in my opinion — overused. But I chose it because it means deciding to do something with purpose. I have many hurts that have caused me to be calloused and without empathy at times. I keep those silent and for the most part let them fester. My goal is to allow them the light of day where they can heal when spoken. You can’t have a relationship that thrives on infected wounds, and being intentional in word, time and deed is immeasurable.
My second goal is to be more productive, managing my work time. I love working freelance from my home, but it comes with many drawbacks. I want to set schedules and keep them, planning my work and being disciplined. My daughter has freshened up my resume (which reads like I have accomplished some things?), and I plan to send more essays, poems and articles into places I’d like to be published.
I want to be fearless in the face of stagnancy, unfulfilled ideas and notions that say I cannot succeed. My book will be published in early 2020, and once that is done, I plan to ramp up all the ideas I haven’t let take center stage.
My last goal is to be focused while still allowing myself down time to be creative, to be present. So often I find myself focused on small things that don’t matter while allowing the important things to slide. A rut can be as small as a rivulet and as big as a raging river, and even while accomplishing daily work schedules, this can be a rut.
Mindless repetition of the same things — even if it means going to the same restaurant over and over with the one you love — I’ve now found can be a rut. I need to step clean out of it and wash my feet of the mud I’ve let dry there.
I wish all of you a Happy New Year and cannot express how happy I am when you stop me on the street to let me know you read this column. It means more to me than any words I could type.