The Years Go Round

I’ve been thinking about a recent post that I highlighted in a Roundup. The Uterus Monologues wrote about Mother’s Day looping back around, which it will do here in the US in a few weeks.

Though I was thinking about it because it’s Pesach. Our third pandemic Pesach, to be exact. The first one was tinged with anxiety, and I prepared a ridiculous meal because I thought that we needed to keep things normal. Better than normal. Look at how we were thriving in the face of uncertainty.

The second Pesach was all about pride. Look at me keeping things going while dealing with vaccine envy. But this third one is barely happening. I am burned out. I cannot make this special. Our seders were brief. Or meals were cobbled together.

Which makes me sad because we’re staring down the end of the twins at home. They may not be home for Pesach for the next few years. This is not the note I want to leave them with. But I also know I have limits, and I’ve reached mine this week.

But I was thinking about the post because the years go round but we are always different, which means the holidays are always different. The situation is always different, which means the holidays are always different. I mean, truly, every time we come to a holiday, we are a completely different person. Isn’t that bizarre to think about? How much we change, and how much that change impacts the way we interact with these stable dots on the calendar that we spin around?

This holiday, I’m not internally pretty. My mind is in too many places at once. My emotions are all over the place. The way I’m moving through the holiday is both a reflection of that and tinged with the fact that I am a different person than I was last year or the year before. The world will keep turning, marking where I am at this moment.