Fuck and Run

Usually, I’m not one given to reflecting on the past year and my hopes, fears, ambitions and dreams for the New Year.

However, this year was exceptional. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. This year. This motherfucking year of all years.

2020 gave like no other. Hard, no lube. Not even a post-coital cuddle.

Shall we?

  • Lost my job
  • Cancelled a dream vacation
  • Lost my best friend
  • Locked down my life
  • Cancelled a charity event near and dear to my heart
  • Witnessed half my nation go berserk
  • Counted along as hundreds of thousands died
  • Watched the planet boil
  • Confronted the mortality of my parents

But, as per usual, I’m an eternal optimist. In the Navy, we often called what I fear my situation is, “The Fly on Shit Syndrome.” Fly is on a turd but he’s happy ’cause he don’t know no better. Might be me. Might not. Seems cute. Glass half full and all that jazz. Right?

So, without further adieu, the Silver Linings on the Shitbag™:

  • Picked-up interesting and challenging work immediately
  • Lost weight
  • Continued riding
  • Told truths to a dying man
  • Heard truths from a dying man
  • Confronted my own prejudices
  • Understood others a bit more clearly
  • Cooked more and better
  • Created more and better
  • Stayed healthy
  • Loved more
  • Strengthened my primary relationships
  • Witnessed movements
  • Fried more chicken
  • Thought more clearly
  • Voted no fewer than 6 times
  • Gained confidence
  • Drank more booze (fuck you, I deserved it)

Like that fly, I end the year hopeful. I can’t say the same about 2019’s end so here’s to trending the right way.

Peace and Happy New Year!

One Comment on “Fuck and Run”

  1. Rick Perera says:

    Hear, hear! Hope to have a proper catch-up with you soon. Perhaps even a zoom?

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