Gonna be a time...

It’s gonna be a time. It’s a Newfoundland expression you say when adventure lies ahead—especially if it involves a gathering of your besties, booze, and good downhome music. I’ve heard the saying in my head so much this last year or so. But, while the voice in my imagination is laden with the familiar Newfie accent, I haven’t drawn any comfort from it. Mostly, because the voice has altered the words, instead, repeatedly saying: It’s been a time. And, it has.

 

Life has been weighted with loss, health issues, and stress. Just when I thought the world would soon tip upright, it tilted again. It has also been a year of hard work and reward. Writing under contract was new to me, and being an overachiever, I took it seriously, delivering my manuscripts polished and well ahead of deadlines. I’ve always functioned that way. But I’ve never had to do it while my personal life was reeling. The publication of my first historical romance series (a dream come true) was both joyous and bittersweet.

 

So, why the Newfoundland expression? I don’t know. Perhaps, during the harder days, I was drawn to memories of my life growing up in an outport there. Some of the happiest—innocence, youth, blind belief that life would be uneventfully eventful. Or is that what growing old does? Colour the past into comfortable pastel shades to ease the dark that splashes across one’s aging canvas?

 

My world is still askew, but less so. Maybe another aspect of getting older is that it never returns to its original position? Maybe we’re meant to look at our lives from each new angle? I’m not sure, but I do know, I am growing more productive. I’m also pushing myself back out into the world at large. A bit unnerving, but so far, I have been rewarded with the company of wonderful people.

 

So, it’s been a time. But more and more, I believe, that once again, the voice from my youth is going to cheer me on, and I will genuinely be looking forward to new adventures. Yes, some day soon, it’s gonna be a time.

We are wired to be caring for the other and generous to one another. We shrivel when we are not able to interact. — Desmond Tutu

I've been absent for far too long. Not just from blogging, but it seems sometimes, from life. Like so many people, with each ripple effect of Covid, my morale ebbs further out of reach and with it, my motivation. A general malaise rides the current, at times threatening to draw all optimism under. I've been diligent in following rules and have led an insular life, my husband and my two pups pretty much my sole companions. They are also my soul compadres, which makes me incredibly fortunate.

I always thought that I would enjoy a quiet life. The concept of moving to one of the smaller islands and cloistering away from the larger world seemed serene and ideal. But the appeal of some quiet time is an entirely different thing than day in and day out of staid sameness. It seems interaction is not an optional component of life for me, but a necessity. I'm craving it. I want to be with friends and laugh. I want to sit in a park and watch children playing and teens hanging out. I even want to be bumped and banged and irritated in a busy mall. I want it all—the whole busy crazy mashup of humanity colliding.

I remind myself constantly about how very lucky I am. I am secure. I am loved. I am not mourning personal loss. These are gifts that an unfathomable number of people cannot claim. However, there is an emotional toll for all of us and the tension these days is both dissipating and swelling. A return to normal, albeit an altered one, is just around the bend…yet still out of sight. The heart buoys at the thought and sinks at the wait. Perhaps, because waiting is all we have been doing. And doing is what keeps our spirit up. That and people. People. People. People.

Anyone for a group hug when this is over?