The Prolonged Void
Mike uses the coping mechanisms that he's learned over the course of previous dark holiday seasons to coax himself out of his holiday blues this year.
This is Mike coming to you from Columbus, Ohio, on a gloomy Monday afternoon, 23 December 2024. The sun set way too early today, around 4:30 PM, and honestly, it’s just been a weird, grayish day. I keep telling myself that this holiday season is going to be different and that I’ve got my coping mechanisms ready, but I can’t even hold a straight face right now — I’m actually sitting here crying.
It feels like a long time since I’ve had a holiday that was actually nice; instead, I’m stuck in this dark place, and it’s incredibly aggravating because this isn’t how things are supposed to be.
But you know what? It’s okay to feel like shit, especially when the Mariah Carey music stops playing and you realize everyone else around you is struggling, too. It’s okay to be the Grinch if that’s what you’re feeling. I’m staring into this indescribable void — a hole left behind by the absence of something significant that used to fill it.
We live in a world where we bottle everything up. Men especially aren't supposed to cry. But we live in such an emotional mess that I think it’s necessary to just let it out. I’ve spent some time being un-housed here in Columbus, and the irony is that being on the streets actually forced me out of the house and away from that cesspool of self-pity I get trapped in when I’m locked in my room.
We’re all just pawns in this attention economy, distracted by "shiny objects" and outrage peddling on the news. It’s gotten so absurd that we feel the need to invent "two sides" to every single story, even the ones that should be universally good. We don’t get together and laugh about the stupid, shared stuff anymore. For instance, I remember an icebreaker where I told the story of shitting my pants on the first day of classes, starting my sophomore year at Wright State. I had to dash back to the dorms with shit dripping down my leg, while everyone was trying to hug me because they hadn't seen me all summer.
Sharing that kind of honesty actually makes me feel better. It reminds me that for every depressing dumpster fire on television, there are 99 little joys out there, like the serendipitous moment of singing "Good Morning Baltimore" while a neighbor opens their window to watch at 7:00 AM.
If you’re feeling alone this year, let’s self-solve that problem together. I’m thinking of putting together a "half-assed" online event for Christmas so we don't have to be isolated. Be happy, because in this economy, your happiness is one of the most valuable commodities still left to be drilled!
Take care of yourselves, and take care of someone else, too.
