In some ways right now I am struggling. In other ways, things are great. The juxtaposition of such contrasting feelings honestly makes me queasy at times.
For instance, I went to a memorial/celebration-of-life for a high school friend earlier this month. (My 2026 has been marked by too many funerals. It's a bad trend.) I didn't know Scott well, but he was the kind of person you didn't have to know well in order to love him. We kept up with each other on Facebook. He sent me links to music stories he knew I'd like, and messaged me when a piece of writing I did moved him. He followed the posts I put up about instruments I was building. He was kind and sweet. It's tragic that he died too soon. I'm glad I finally got to meet his husband, who is charming and loves to share stories. I enjoyed seeing my high school friends. We ate excellent pizza. I got to spend some time with my Mom which was good for both of us.
The loss matters because life matters. The bad is a direct result of having appreciated the good.
But I'm finding that less profound than I think I'm supposed to at my age. It's exhausting more than anything. I'm weary of sadness and joy sitting side by side.
Likewise, the confusion of being continually disgusted and angered by events in the news, but comforted by the generosity of people within my reach is disorienting sometimes. The scope of so much corruption and horror on a national level somehow continues to escalate, and also my neighbors are decent people I count on. If I avoid the news the world seems fine. I'm aware that I'm privileged to be able to tune out the news when it gets to be too much and live in a space that feels okay.
My home has been in disarray since renovation work began back in March. It's hard to feel settled when your environment is anything but. Construction continues on the back half of the house, and has now extended to part of the second floor when it was discovered the terrace above the family room has been leaking for many years. Everything had to stop until roofers could be found. We ended up having to replace the door to the terrace from my oldest daughter's room as part of the fix, and as a result she's "home" from college but living in a spare area of the violin store building. I know in a few months when everything is done and we're enjoying the improvements it will be great, but in the meantime the clutter and the disruption and the noise is getting to me. I'm tired of not being able to find anything, and annoyed at having books piled in the dining room blocking all the natural light.
I have a kid who is in crisis, which is hard. I won't share stories that aren't mine, but my part of the story involves feeling helpless and sad and worried. Stress dragged out over days and weeks takes a toll. I distract myself with the dog and work and snuggling with my husband as we watch new episodes of Taskmaster, but the underlying sense of having to stave off panic is making me sick. Headaches are back. But then I breathe and look up and the weather is beautiful and the garden is blooming. Work is fine. Many things are going well. But the line about how "You are only as happy as your saddest child" springs to mind often. When there is nothing you can do, how much homage do you pay to grief so that you don't believe you are callous?
I feel like I should be better at accepting that this is the world. That this is life. The good and the bad are both at hand all the time. The trick is knowing how much to pivot from one to the other and to not let the good blind you to things that need attention, or to let the bad to drag you down. I don't feel very good at that trick. I may never be.
