As if 2016 weren’t finished with me yet, infirmity comes to me with some ironic leniency: I only suffer from severe sinus congestion. The situational irony is made a little more distressing because infirmity seldom visits me.
Nevertheless, these are the kinds of lamentations one finds circulating social media, becoming more thunderous as we approach the final moments of 2016. Undoubtedly, 2016 has been unique, beset with celebrity deaths, a contentious election cycle, and vehement political protestations. Let’s not forget that crime, corruption, war, famine, disease (infectious and otherwise), racism, gender and sexual discrimination, and myriad other tribulations could not be averted, pacified, or eradicated this year. Not to mention, the scourge of turkey bacon and non-alcoholic beer still persists.
2016 sucks. Or does it?
Could this be one’s most difficult year lived? Perhaps. Could it get worse? Unfortunately, it is possible; it is also possible that one’s fortunes could only get better. Or is everyone just exaggerating their woes? These are intended as reflective prompts, for I cannot possibly answer these questions for the reader. Plaintive cries about how terrible this year was are only slightly lost on me, and not for lack of empathy; my mouth was certainly agape at some of the events that transpired this year. In particular, I acutely feel—and have felt—the sorrow and heartache of friends and family that have suffered great loss.
I, too, have lost. I have faltered. I have struggled. I have been mocked. I have been injured. But I have not quit. I continue resolute.
And perhaps this is the coda to my post. Mewling is only as useful as one’s capacity to reflect and learn from adversity. Grief is important and should not be stifled; the same is true of finding an outlet for one’s anger. But grief—and venting anger—differs greatly from bitching and moaning, lamenting that the world or the universe has conspired to make one miserable. Such thinking serves solely to hold us back from thoughtfully and constructively engaging the future. Trust me, I know.
2016 didn’t suck. It certainly had its terrible moments. However, this year is adorned with accomplishments, triumphs, and joy. I know people who proposed marriage to their partners and lovers. People who married, started new careers, became homeowners, became parents. To those who have suffered greatly this year, shed the frayed tatters of melancholy, for silver linings are often found in the darkest caverns. It takes hardship and strife to learn one’s constitution, to ascertain one’s true friends, to realize that setbacks are temporary.
Wiser and stronger—at least, I hope we are—than our former selves, bearing the scars of winters passed, let us enter 2017 with a little more hope. Let us enter with more strength. More courage. We can mourn our dead but still slog forward; the fallen have taught us much about life, but those lessons cannot be for naught. We are the architects of our own futures, and we, therefore, have the responsibility to rise from the debris, bandage our wounds, and rebuild ourselves. Our goals. Our dreams. Our lives. The gloom was certainly dark and heavy. But we must set our sights towards the horizon, for the sun yet rises.