The good and the bad

You know, I thought about this blog entry almost a year ago. It was sparked when I bought a new iPhone, which was a source of excitement, followed by a few days of recrimination. Am I allowed to enjoy new things any more? Ever since Colin died, every time I have fun or find myself immersed into a TV show or a book or a game with Emma and Noah, just enjoying the moment, I snap back out of it with a “how can I keep on enjoying my life after what happened to Colin?”

I was kind of shocked at how quickly I snapped back into normal life after the hell of 2019.

After this week, I’ve decided that there’s no question: I get to enjoy the good things still. There’s no question about it. I do, not because of some general ‘everyone is allowed a good time’ philosophy (I believe that too), but because I find that the bad times hit me so much harder, I really deserve the good times too.

I say this thinking about what happened on Capitol Hill last week.

Now, on a day-to-day level, it barely affected me. My shift had ended for the day and I was out on a walk when things went crazy on Capitol Hill. I live thousands of miles away and I’m not even sure which of my old colleagues still work there.

On a personal level, it hit me pretty hard. I worked on Capitol Hill as a reporter from 1999-2004. I looked for photos of me on the Hill and found none. While I was doing it, it was just a job that, honestly, annoyed me on many days. I loved chasing the lawmakers; I hated dealing with the editors. I enjoyed being near the center of power; I knew there were a ton of people who covered it better than I did. I liked knowing some things first; I missed talking to regular people, not lawmakers who are, let’s face it, a bit divorced from reality. It didn’t dawn on me to document my day-to-day there.

But one thing that never failed to register was the prestige of working in a building like that. The Capitol is a work of art and there would be days after working ridiculously late when I’d cut through Statuary Hall on my way back home and have the place to myself, which will not happen if you’re a tourist. And it’s breathtaking. The art. The knowing that you’re walking on the same floor where some of America’s greatest minds have worked (and some of its less-great ones too, but this is not the time or place). I have this memory of the day Jim Traficant was expelled from the house. I had little to do with the story, but I was stuck there late that night and saw the technicians removing his name from the board of all members over the speaker’s chair. It wasn’t the most impressive piece of American history to be at, but it was a piece and I was there to see it happen.

So, aside from all the things I’m not going to get into here – Was Trump responsible? Was it criminal? Was it Antifa? (You can probably guess my answers to all three – there was just the shock at watching people rampage through this building where I spent so much time being amazed that I got to be there. I watched the video two days ago where Ashli Babbitt got shot. I walked through that door hundreds of times. I don’t remember it ever being closed once. I certainly don’t remember it being barricaded with furniture and guards.

So yeah, I watched with shock on Wednesday night and then, Thursday and Friday, I caught myself misting up once or twice. Maybe that would have happened no matter what. Maybe Colin’s death has made me more susceptible to strong emotions. I do know I read one or two firsthand accounts of reporters who were there at the time. They kept mentioning how it felt like an invasion of their home. I thought that a bit much. But then I was out on Friday night for a walk with a friend who has only rudimentary English skills, so I’m going to assume he doesn’t read a lot of US media, and when I told him how upset I’d been he responded “It was your home. Of course it upset you.”

I suppose it also all comes against the emotions as we approach Colin’s 7th birthday and we see all his little buddies having their birthdays or just running around outside in the light snow we had last week. I dreamed this morning that I woke up and Colin was sitting on my pillow – it’s never surprising in dreams when he shows up – and wanted a kiss. Maybe it’s just me who wanted the kiss. But it shows he’s never far from my mind.

What I think I’ve realized now is that it doesn’t matter if I let myself get taken to the highs or the lows in the state I’m in. I get to dread the lows, but I will still enjoy the highs. I very much like using the sauna, for example, and that has not been an option during the pandemic. So, for Christmas, Christina has arranged that I’ll soon get a mobile sauna for one weekend here in my backyard. Whenever that happens, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it, because who on Earth knows when the next thing is going to come along to drag me down?