I miss me

I was digging into my archives to find this vintage diatribe about couches (https://www.beckyhaycox.com/?p=323) to share with a friend who was befuddled by the amount of ugly couches he encounters in his new career as a house inspector.

Then, while I was on the blog, I started poking around and reading other posts here and there.

I was struck by how enjoyable (dare I say “breezy?”) my writing is, and had vague memories on how much fun it was to write, and had just a whole lot of delighted and befuddled feelings about these not-so-very-long-ago memories.

One of the things that stood out to me the most was how positive I sounded, even during the times I know for a fact were neither breezy nor positive overall.

Of course, I’m coming out of a real shithole of a quarantine year-plus, where no one could, nor was really allowed to, feel good or feel/express pure positivity.

Well, and then walking it back farther to 2016, and that election, and the start of feeling constant and relentless contempt for many fellow humans whom I didn’t/don’t understand, and whom I judge very hard.. that very negative judgy space (now sadly almost a norm) wasn’t a regular practice for me, except for some dark gothy young-Becky days.

It will take time for me for me to again feel good all the way down to my very soul. And even longer to find some equilibrium over what it means to exist as an American and as a woman and as a worker and all that.

I just got back from my very first vacation since 2019 and got to see the family that I love the most and two of my oldest friends, and I got to have laughs and tears and parties and touch and relaxation and all the things that I have been feeling parched for and doubt about. And it felt about as blissful as you might imagine it would feel, but it doesn’t feel normal yet. And default Becky isn’t going to be pure positive perky Becky for a bit.

But reading the words of slightly-less-jaded Becky and all of the things going on in her life and all of the goodness she had, makes me feel the desire to go back to those feelings, more than I have felt in a long time.

This “gift of quarantine”, as I like to say so sarcastically, has afforded an abundance of time in which I could crawl into my own head and overthink everything, every fucking hour of the day. But the relentless angst and stress piled upon me for 400 days did make me think about what I need to change for the future, and what I’d like from life. So it’s all coming together and giving me yearning, perspective, desires, and maybe even a tiny little brave glimmering flicker of hope.