I slept in a tent with my sisters that night. We woke up on Christmas morning, and didn't care as much as we used to that the tree was over-run with gifts. Gifts that I wasn't sure that I wanted; gifts that I was sure that I had absolutely no room for. Gifts that were appreciated nonetheless. Then it was the Robinson party, which always always feels like Christmas no matter what. Even the year that we received a phone call in the middle of the mayhem announcing that there was another death. Even then. It was a perfect, beautiful death...but this year's death occurred a couple of weeks ago and thankfully there was not another one hiding underneath the Christmas tree for us to unwrap, surprised.
As cousins, we've always been close. Closer still when we realize each other's faults, although we were raised with especially high standards and morals. Because when we slip up, it can feel like a stain on the family crest; but when we slip up together and realize that things are more difficult than we had bargained for, we fall apart in tandem and it isn't so lonely or shameful. We build each other back up, synchronized, better. My cousins are untouchable examples of beauty and passion. We hold each other in high regard, and we try to make sense of things that knock us down a couple of pegs. I am glad for that kind of relationship with anybody, let alone with family. It is amazing to watch ourselves grow, and hear ourselves talk, and work ourselves ragged to figure things out, and have the courage to sing at the end of the day. That is the way it has been. That is the way it will be.
Among us, we fight a huge array of dark matter. Honestly, some of the reason why Christmas didn't feel like being thrown down a water-slide made of cheese-graters this time is the fact that I'm preoccupied with greater things. At least, things of a greater magnitude. As the rise-and-fall of my mental state continues, I continue my attempt at sorting things into their respective categories. These thoughts go here. This action goes over there. It is safe to talk to him but too dangerous to speak to her. When is my soul made of glass and when is it wrapped in steel? Because I am about to begin a treacherous journey. Something terrifying and uncomfortable, as of right now, that other people seem to know about more than I actually do. Lots of fighting, lots of preparing, lots of...insecurity. How? How does this work? How can I rock out loud at quantum physics but the silly, stupid, basic things that seem so easy for everybody else absolutely elude me? I don't want to let my heart go, and truth be told, I'm scared. Yep. The Great Becca Robinson is out-of-her-mind frightened. So I suppose I could take Josh Preston's advice and five-four-three-two-one myself into blast-off, with the courage to count backwards, and then the following question: what happens when I hit "one"? Is this the part where my whole life blows up? Is this the part where I surrender? You're in charge. Am I really this difficult and are You really this silent?
Yikes. Sometimes it seems like a mistake. I'm waiting for the point where it becomes natural, or at least comprehensible, or maybe...possible.