2022 Intention Word
Balancing Act
It is midyear, 1996, likely June or July, and I cling. spread eagle, to the hood of a jet-black Honda Del Sol, travelling at 30mph down a long gravel driveway. This is a snapshot, a moment from my life. I will survive it, but my engagement to the woman driving the car will not. It will take six more months for the relationship to completely disintegrate. If nothing else, I am good at hanging on.
At the twilight of my second marriage, I hold a book between my legs, pretending to read in bed. I must wake up early and open the restaurant. It is time for sleep, but I crave a cigarette, though I haven’t smoked for years. “My Tinder feed is blowing up. I’ve gotten 20 swipes in the first half-hour. This is so much fun!” My wife at the time has decided that seeing other people is the best way to resurrect our relationship. Although it makes me physically ill, this idea does not strike me as crazy. This is our shared destination, and I am co-ringleader of this craziness. As I flee this relationship, I will throw away much more. Friends. A wonderful job. My sense of shame. When I let go, I burn it all to the ground.
I confess this and cringe. Thankfully these disasters were defanged by time. Happiness, wisdom, and deep support help to clarify my past, revealing what happened, often why, and what such events tell me about my habits. Reflecting on periods of prolonged despair, my failures in judgement stand out like wounds in various stages of healing. I am proud of the scars, but mindful of the cost. I have wasted years of energy and effort, abandoned friends, alienated family - squandered a fortune – yet always bounced back. “Bill could land in a dumpster full of shit and he’d figure a way to leap out smelling like a rose.” That was my Grandfather Petro. He recognized a fellow busted flush, another wanna-be Peter Pan. He knew the price of begging punches, getting hit hard, and what it takes to get back to your feet, reassemble your chin, and lift it again before the next fight in a misguided crusade.
“Have you thought about your word for 2022?” I lift my head from the pillow and turn to stare blankly at my wife. Bex has been tossing about new year ideas for days. “No? You were so quick last year.” She is right. Engage was my 2021 theme from the start, and now I am searching, grasping, and finding little purchase. Rightly so, what use does a man who has spent the happiest year of his life have for a new tag word?
Engage worked wonders for me. Or I got lucky, probably both. I reconnected with so many wonderful people, honored my family in ways I hadn’t for years, strengthened my relationship with my daughter, found a new job, started running and rediscovered writing. Bex and I renovated and sold a house, bought a fascinating vintage home, hatched a dream for the future, got engaged and married the mutual loves of our lives. Yep.
I purse my lips and nod. “I should probably go with engage again.”
“Doesn’t work that way, baby.” Bex sips her coffee. I sigh and flip the sheets back over my head.
“Oh my.” She continues, I hear her faux concern. “Well, think about it this way, what does Bill Angell really need?” I do not respond. It is still early, and my wife lets me withdraw and fall back to sleep.
Morning dreams follow their own logic, as do all dreams I suppose, but a vision descends on me like a genie snapping his fingers. It ends with a booming voice and I sit up. Bex is no longer on the bed. I am alone until she glides into the bedroom bundled in a bathrobe and cradling her beloved mug of coffee.
“I have my word.”
“Oh yeah, what happened.” She curls up beside me like a fox.
“God spoke to me. He told me what I need.” Bex assumes I am being ironic, and I am. Sort of.
“I dreamt that I was splayed out like the Davinci Man looking into the sky when a voice came into my head and spoke my word.
“Interesting. What did He say?”
“Evidently he thinks I need balance.” She looks up at me out of the corner of her eyes as I pull out my laptop.
“And what do you think about that?”
“He’s probably on to something.” Bex smirks, then smiles.
“I was going to suggest balance, but I figured you’d better work it out for yourself.” Typical. As my wife curls herself into an even tighter vixenish ball, I consider the probability that she is divine.
Turns out there is an answer to the question of what a man who has lived the best year of his life ought to focus on - protecting what he has and what he has become. What’s more, whether I’ve ever been this blessed, this happy, or not, I certainly have a history of sabotaging my world, and 2022 is the year I stop.
Bex is now folding laundry. She stops to pet the cat and looks over at me as I hover over my laptop, gazing at her.
“Why do you need balance?”
“Because every time I lose it, I set fires.” She nods and sighs, “You do like watching things burn.” Wincing, I attempt a modest list.
Place work over relationships. Devalue self. Mistake drama for love. Avoid everything unwanted. Recreate relationships past. Attempt to save others. Deny shame. Refuse to acknowledge despair. Hang on too long.
I have spent my life juggling flaming objects. I lose emotional balance and the big top goes up in smoke. I do not want my newfound realm to burn, so I do what I have rarely done in the past – reach out for help. Beginning with my dream voice, and the word it speaks, I listen. I will need more support, so I ask with love, of my wife, my daughter, my family near and far, friends of all types, and of myself most of all, the following:
Help me protect my balance. Support me when I am in need but correct me when I am indulgent. Celebrate my hard work but remind me of its deeper purpose. Assist me with my endeavors but reel me back in if I go too deep. Laugh with me when I am funny, but reprimand me if I am being cruel. Let me know you, but never let me change you. Truth helps even when it hurts, and truth maintains balance.
Like a circus performer trapped between deaths by fire or water, I can drown in the impotence of hanging on or melt in the aftermath of letting go. Or perhaps I can master the space in the middle. My future awaits in the center ring, eyeing these toxic poles, trusting my balance to keep me safe.