Explosions
Well folks, if time is a man-made mirage, then new year is surely just an arbitrary ignis fatuus that we all desperately cling to in order to make life feel remotely survivable. As Albert Einstein posited, “the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”
I’m just messing with you. Of course New Year is more than just another date in the calendar. We use this marker to plan, dream, manifest and most crucially, hope. Fervent wishes and prayers are sent out into the universe- that we may become better people, kinder people, that we may be gifted the grace to forgive, the fortitude to march on through the darkness, the discipline to lose weight, read more books, go to the gym. These fragile, loaded hopes vary in scale, solipsism and achievability, and the wonderfully lovable and ridiculous thing about humans is that we often doggedly insist on making exactly the same promise every time the earth orbits the sun.
On New Years’s Eve I shaved off all my hair. I’m going to intersperse photos of my all-time favourite Hollywood marriage while I tell you about it. I have faith that Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks patently adoring each other will get us through these hard times.
But first I need to tell you that not so long ago our shower screen exploded so dramatically that I genuinely thought a bomb had gone off. The screen was one of the most expensive things I’d ever bought for the home - and easily the heaviest. It weighed as much as a family hatchback. When I rang the company they weren’t at all surprised, saying that it ‘just happens’ from time to time. What? Does it? Apparently, it occurs due to manufacturing defects such as nickel sulfide inclusions, which cause delayed spontaneous explosions! The glass detonated so forcefully that scores of fragments lodged into the wall like bullets. (I keep trying to reassure my exhaustingly anxious brain that it is readied for all possible eventualities, but then God/Science/Jeremy Clarkson insist on adding ones that I simply didn’t realise I had to worry about or prepare for.)
It turns out that these bathroom-based detonations happen ALL THE TIME. Has it happened to you? If so, why didn’t you mention it?! The internet is jam-bloody-packed full of fellow injured and traumatised people whose shower screen has detonated without warning.
Why am I telling you this?
I think I’m telling you because it feels like a very fitting illustration of my life since the Pandemic. It smashed apart and no matter hard I try- and I’ve tried so painfully hard- there’s no sticking it back together. I thought that I could write myself back to society and hope, but I’m going to level with you- that hasn’t happened in the way I longed for. I did write myself back to sanity though, so that’s something. More than that, I just don’t know. Sorry if that’s a bit bleak- here’s some more Anne and Mel.
A while back I wrote a post about care/exhaustion/people pleasing and shaving off my hair. On New Year’s Eve I handed Dan the clippers. Why did I do it? Well, practically, I can’t lift my left arm above shoulder height and it makes it difficult, painful and soul-destroying to wash and dry my hair. I, like most other people with a degenerative disease, preciously guard my independence and I hated asking Dan for help with this task. Spiritually, it is oath, warning, re-set, surrender, statement, vow.
I have grown, changed and learned so much since my world caved in in 2020, but I still often find myself not waving but drowning. I have been grief doula, coper, listener for so long, and I neither can, nor want to be that person any more. But my resolutely maternal vibe mulishly clings to me and I find myself repeating the old pattern time and time again. Last week, on my daily walk, a total stranger cried as she rolled up her trouser leg and showed me her life-changing scars from a terrible dog attack. I wanted to scream- PLEASE NOT ME PICK SOMEONE ELSE I AM EMPTY THE WELL IS DRY. But instead I followed my long-trodden, comfortable path and nodded and listened and empathised and advised. Except it doesn’t actually feel so comfortable any more. It feels like death.
On New Year’s Eve, I wondered if I would feel scared when I saw my hair floating down to the floor, but actually I felt almost high with elation- giddy with the transgression of the act. I know it’s only hair but also…
Kristie de Garis’ piece on New Year and health is a tender and profound read. She writes that it’s not always about starting again, but instead, ‘continuing carefully’. This has always been my belief, and still is. But, for the first time in my life, I felt like I needed to enact a (personally) grand gesture as the old year slipped into the new one. Part of me wonders if it’s because I am, aged 52, only just starting to live my teenage life now. I was so intent on being good the first time round. And maybe the buzz cut isn’t such a dramatic new start after all; it is just part of the beautiful, difficult process of continuing carefully on my way.
Have I fashioned myself into a nun who cuts off her hair to detach herself from the laity? I hope that this practical and symbolic act will be one of connection not separation, but it’s too early to tell. What I do know is that every time I look in the mirror I am reminded that there is no turning back. Something- someone- new has been born.
I don’t want to keep telling you about how hard things are and how sad I am. Things are hard for lots of people and many of us are sad. So, I’m going to take a little break. I have some ideas and small hopes for where this year is going to take me and I hope you will be interested to read about it when I return. This is where I choose to begin…
I don’t mean this in a nauseating, glib Insta way. I mean, my life properly fell apart but I’m determined to keep going and maybe even slowly start to thrive again. Not for everyone else this time, though- for myself. This is Nun Curry signing out.
Wishing you well on your journeys of all kinds this year. Waving to you all and more soon x
Belated HNY, Jessica. As far as the vibe goes, are we talking G.I. Jane, Alien³, neither.. or both?! Light-hearted comment aside, wishing you and yours a good, better year.
Your account and posts on here really are something rather special, however difficult it can be to read (and I'm quite sure also *write*) at times. Thank you.
It looks like you're ready to go out and cause some trouble, musically, theologically or otherwise! Also, your shower screen exploding sounds terrifying. I take it that (hope hope hope) noone was in the room?