Windy yesterday morning. Not as cool as Saturday, though. Blue skies, and a forecast high within a few degrees of 90°F. Welcome to springtime in The South.
I opened the cabin windows early and set the AC unit to fan. Stuff I’d moved to make room for the gas stove’s grand entrance on Saturday was returned to its assigned spots.
I finished removing packing materials from the stove and assembled it — burners, grates, griddle, racks, and such. And then I plugged it in for a few minutes.
Again, all satisfying, even if it’s nothing but a boat anchor ’til it has LP orifices and gas.
Before finishing up, I took measurements for lumber to build a shelf over the stove to support the microwave/convection oven, still in its box next to the fridge.
My laundry basket was full enough for a respectable load in the washer. Taking back the task of doing my own laundry was great even when I trucked it to the laundromat 12 miles away. Now, with the washer-dryer hooked up in the cabin, it’s an absolute joy.
Joy.
The most ordinary tasks. A mountain of work still to do. Resources more meager than you can imagine. And still, I’m a happy man.
“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time,” said the songwriter. “Any fool can do it. There ain’t nothing to it.”
I can’t argue with that.
The washer still had three minutes to go when I walked over to transfer my clothes to the dryer. Instead of standing there and watching it count down, I stepped outside and admired these colorful rose vervain blooming among the rocks.
When Elisabeth Kübler-Ross published the book On Death and Dying in 1969, she gave the world a pocket guide to dealing with loss — “the five stages of grief,” which now we simply call “DABDA.”
If you make your home under a rock and you’ve never heard of DABDA, it’s an acronym:
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Depression
- Acceptance
The premise, in a nutshell, is that this progression of five emotions is essential to coping with sudden loss. The implication is that anyone who doesn’t follow “the script” (I used that term yesterday, you’ll recall) and complete every stage will be harmed forever psychologically.
Skipping a stage is not allowed.
In the years that followed the book’s release, many psychobabblers pointed out that each of us is different, that some folks do the same grieving but in a different order. Kübler-Ross later grudgingly agreed, saying that the process isn’t necessarily linear, that a person could be in two stages at once, even three.
Predictably, some suggested that there are more than five stages. The most popular is SDABDTA, which adds “Shock” as the initial stage and “Testing” before Acceptance.
But in the end, DABDA stuck.
You might be getting the idea that I’m about to torch the whole concept of grieving stages as useless. Not at all — those emotions are real and show up when we process loss.
The problem is that we humans, always looking for simple explanations and quick fixes, tend to latch onto something with an easy-to-remember five-letter acronym to help decipher how we’re doing. And when our feelings don’t match the script, we conclude that there must be something wrong with us.
That does more harm than good.
The context for all this, obviously, is that on February 3rd, I suffered a loss — the unceremonious and stone-silent end of a near-20-year committed relationship.
I’m quite sure that I checked all the DABDA boxes along the way, in one form or another, with the exception of Anger — I haven’t spent a single second being angry. Disappointment is as close as I came.
What I can say with certainty is that despite experiencing a range of emotions, I knew where I wanted to be. I kept my eyes on the prize of Acceptance, seeing little point in plodding through perfunctories.
As a result, it didn’t take long — two weeks? three? — to accept the loss, even embrace it. I blew through DABDA (or SDABDTA, or whatever) like a streamliner through the traps at Bonneville.
The next step I took, purposefully, burned every bridge between me and the grieving process, especially its most lethal stage — Denial.
I’ll explain this as plainly as I can. Every look backward is manifest denial, and I’ve committed to moving forward, moving on. I have zero interest in reliving, reviving, renegotiating, or re-ordering.
Indifference.
Done is done. Dead (figuratively speaking) is dead. Over is over and out.
And I’m out.
I’m out here on my own, free from dwelling and pining and wishing and hoping. Stages be damned — I own the road that brought me here, and I’ll own the road that takes me to whatever’s next.
No doubt. No regret.
I’ll close this post today with something I heard Tucker Carlson say in a keynote speech — and it has nothing to do with politics or culture or current events. I believe it’s relevant to matters of commitment and, in the face of separation, the business of moving on.
“Never give emotional control to someone who doesn’t love you.
“You wouldn’t hand a firearm to a toddler, would you? Then you shouldn’t grant emotional control to a person who doesn’t love you.”
We cede power over our actions, our thoughts, and our very well-being to people who truly couldn’t care less, and who inevitably end up proving that. Think about it.
Yesterday’s aftenoon high in Ozarkansas did, in fact, reach almost 90°F.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable