Festive lighting
Is it possible that I have forgotten the art of celebration?
I don’t know what it is about this year but I am struggling to celebrate it well. It is not that I am downtrodden and in despair. On the contrary, I am blessed with a beautiful wife who supports me endlessly. A very challenging job is keeping my ambitions entertained. We have more than enough roof over us and although I would prefer having a stash of potato chips, the over-flowing grains in our pantry indicate that we are unlikely to go hungry. All of the major boxes except ‘her’ are ticked. But I know that the wait for that perfect car would just make it sweeter. All in all, my life is peachy, if not rosy.
Yet, every bit of good news this year has been weirdly muffled to a whimper. There is a dampening cloud that is hanging over me all the time. Be it the small successes or annual festivities, my attempts to celebrate them seem rehearsed and forced. There isn’t a natural progression of joy that trickles that entire day or week. There is instead a deliberate attempt to remain happy.
I am on a mission to get to the bottom of this. Is there a deceptively simple underlying reason that is preventing me from lighting up? Is there a burbling volcano of worry that is acting like dead weight over our current state of success? Or is it more from a combination of multiple factors that act together to block all exits out of melancholy.
Digging deep does come at the price. Attempting to find simple answers to difficult problems can lead to finding terrifying explanations to simple problems. For example, it would be an entirely valid to ask myself when the last time was I was happy or celebrated well.
I am happy to report that I am not devoid of happy places where peace comes easy. Snuggling with the girl with an orange hat someplace else is probably the best place to start. On a race track, experiencing over 0.4g lateral acceleration is a close second. An exhausting hike in the mountains and a beer thereafter isn’t too far behind. Being pampered at home by relentless parents and being ridiculed by your best friends for the historic gaffes is joyous in its nicest form.
However, I am struggling to recall in recent times a sincere attempt to enjoy and to celebrate success. Perhaps I have raised the entry threshold so high that I am unable to actually recognize the act of doing work or achieving things of merit. The good and the bad is all being filtered out at the same time. And yet, there is also the fear of overdoing it. As if the act of celebration will inflame despair. That sadness will be alerted of my location and would come looking for me for revenge.
The truth is I have lost the art of celebrating or throwing parties. It just seems like work now and whole lot of vacuuming later. I dress up for work but not for later. I can’t even recall reserving a table at that special restaurant. We head out on Friday evenings but return home way before Uber raises its fare that night. I am getting rusty at this and it is becoming harder to re-start.
Diwali is around the corner. In the fall of Michigan, it doesn’t feel like it all. Family, friends and food are more than an ocean away. The constant sputter of fireworks, the stores glittering with string of lights and exchange of surplus sweets between acquaintances is nowhere to be found in the colder nights of Ann Arbor.
But, the winter isn’t here as yet. She is likely to make scrumptious food and look beautiful in her gorgeous Indian wear. That’s enough to get me off my rusty bucket and finally start appreciating what I took for granted.
It is a modest excuse for a party but feels utterly right. Also, go blue 🙂
