“Family holiday letters are so 20th century, but I still love them.”
— Jo Paoletti
I continue to slog away at my third book, Que Sera,Sera: A generational autobiography, about how the clothing of the last 70 years reveals how I learned to be female, feminine, and white. Don’t hold your breath for a copy: it HAS been a slog.
We both turned 70 this year (how terribly strange, as Paul Simon observed in his 20s), Jim with little fanfare, me with a backyard party with ice cream, cake, and a professional clown. (Who’s the introvert now?)
The outcome is not the point.
The point is the effort…To believe to act, and to have events confound you — I grant you, that is hard to bear. But to believe, and not to act, or to act in a way that every fiber of your soul held was wrong — how can you not see? That is what would have been reprehensible.
That’s a heavy thought for a holiday letter, but there’s no sugarcoating the mess we are in: our country, humanity, the earth. So I plan to hold tighter to the good people around me, and balance my need to turn inward for restoration and to direct my energy outward for positive change.
I used to joke that I could never figure out which was which. A recent conversation finally switched on the light. My really indispensable friends - the “golden” ones - are a mix of ages, and they came into my life anywhere from middle school to last year. What they have in common is the way we fit together, the comfort we enjoy in our interactions. Sometimes it happens quickly: you hit it off at a first meeting. But you can also know someone for years or decades before you finally get a chance to connect on that magical level that leads to close friendship.
So make new friends and keep the old; cherish the ones that turn out to be gold.
Friend, I hope 2020 brings you good times, resilience, community, and golden friendships galore.