I am sitting on my bedroom floor, stacking books onto a shelf while on Skype with one of my favorite people, when it hits me–in a little over an hour I will leave my apartment and drive to the airport, where I will pick up my mom and baby sister (whom I haven’t seen in two and a half years) and my grandma (whom I haven’t seen in a year). Time flies, and I’m beginning to think that time, rather than mileage, makes up the vastness of the distance between me and many people I love.
People are moving in and out of my life like the tide, and as I navigate all of those changes I realize that I have greatly underestimated the depth of some of my feelings for them, and that I have doubted the reciprocity in those relationships as I struggled with establishing my own self-worth.
All that I can do now is pray that it’s not too late, that I haven’t run out of time, that I can still say all of the things I want to say before oceans (of water but also busyness) once again separate us.
If you’re surprised that I’m blogging right now, let me tell you that no one is more surprised at this development than I am. The months of silence have encapsulated the difficulty of most of this year, which has swept past me in what seems like a tidal wave. 2015, it seems, has left with me with too many feelings and too few words–and afraid of writing something honest but inadequate or polished but insincere, I chose to write only for myself and to let the silence in this space speak for itself.
The fact is, this year has been full of darkness and turmoil for the entire world. My heart has grown heavy as I read the news, and I have ended up taking several steps back from social media to try and preserve my sanity. It has become increasingly hard to remain positive about my future and the future of our world in the face of so much horror, and so this year I wasn’t as excited for Chanukah as I normally am.
And then I had to write a d’var for my synagogue board meeting, which made me think about what Chanukah means to me this year.