Month/Day/Year
The month is February. The day is Tuesday. The year is 2020.
And I? I am currently sitting at the Fox Den, sipping coffee from the “Limited Release Collector’s Edition Rugged Fox and Clark” coffee mug, and trying my darnedest to stay attached to this keyboard. I don’t know what has happened in the last few years; but I cannot tell you the number of times I have sat down to write, only to find myself collapsed on the couch ten minutes later, with a bottle of French rosé and another mindless Netflix Special.
Talk about relationship problems! I used to consider Microsoft Word to be one of my BFF’s. The two of us could not spend enough time together. But now it appears as if my digital acquaintance has turned into that once beloved best friend, who drops you in middle school as soon as they trade in dignity for a higher step on the social ladder. As of late, I feel like I keep trying to get back into the inner circle while giving up right at the gate.
What has happened since we last talked? So much I can’t even but together we will try. At 34 years of age, it seems that time is being measured these days by major life events and the growth of my best friends’ kids. Ever since I entered into my third decade, I have caught myself overflowing champagne flutes with phrases like, “We are going to Paris!” / “I can’t believe how fast he has grown!” / and “Congratulations on the new store, that is amazing!”
While there has been ample cause for celebration, as life would have it, there has also been several sequences of subjects, predicates and complements that I wish I did not have to tie together. Loaded questions such as “How bad is it? Is he going to die?” / “You two are getting divorced? I am so sorry.” / and “So I guess this is goodbye, but just for now right?”
“Now, I am ready. And it feels good to be back.
If that is okay by you.”
The truth is that while as a teenage boy, and then later as a twenty-something, I always dreamed my thirties would be the time to shine. While it is true, there have been a plenitude of peak style moments, there has also been a mass of major wardrobe malfunctions.
Two years ago this May, while the Winnipeg Jets soared into the playoffs, I returned home to learn my Dad, Papa Fox, was sick - stage 4 sick. As fate would have it, while the Jets did not succeed in winning the Cup that year, my Dad was victorious in the war to save his life.
There are plenty of stories that I have longed to share with you. They have been swirling around my mind scrambling for a way out. The truth is, when I began writing, I never appreciated how much emotion I had invested in it. The laughter, tears, embarrassment, guilt and anger. The process! These past few years I have avoided a keyboard not because I did not want to write; but rather because I did not want to feel. Now, I am ready. And it feels good to be back. If that is okay by you.
