Humor
The Star That Mocks Me
“Cheerfulness,” it says. Every day. Every damn day.
The church I attend has a tradition: the Sunday closest to Epiphany is Star Sunday. Everyone randomly chooses a star with a word on it. That word represents a divine gift — and one that we are encouraged to look for signs of in our lives throughout the year. Congregants usually place the star somewhere visible in our homes, so we remember to ponder how that gift plays out in our lives.
In past years, I’ve received “faithfulness” and “courage.” Laudable gifts resulting in deep thoughts and meaningful moments of prayer and reflection.
This year, I smiled when I plucked the word “cheerfulness” from the basket. “This will be fun!” I thought.
God, they say, has a sense of humor. Believe it.
In January, which seems years ago now, provocative military action in Iran brought the fear of war for US citizens who were paying attention. With a son at the age to be eligible for a draft, it was unnerving. February delivered the Senate’s vote against removing this nation’s most vile and corrupt president in history. March ushered in a global pandemic and the beginning of an interminable stay-at-home order.
And those turned out to be the year’s high points.
The convergence of geopolitical unrest, menopause, and a pandemic have tried my “cheerful” streak like no other. I dutifully set up my work-from-home space. I got savvy about provisioning the house with hard-to-find items — resulting in excessive stores of chocolate chip cookies…because you’ve got to live your priorities. I group-texted with my family daily. I felt gratitude every day that those closest to me remained healthy. I looked for reasons to sing.
But I haven’t felt cheerful.
My life partner, Andy, has seen a whole ‘nother side to me. Truth be told, so have I. In the past, I’ve risen to life’s challenges with vigor and high spirits. Grew up poor. Who cares? Took six years to work my way through college. Yawn. Realized on my honeymoon that I’d married a mean and abusive man. Bring it…I retained true inner happiness for 17 years before leaving the relationship. As a single mom, lost my job in the last recession and was unemployed for 7 months. I allowed myself 10 minutes to cry and scream and then set to work finding a job.
Everyone has trials and difficulties — mine have been nowhere near exceptional. But I’ve always prided myself on looking for the good and remaining, well, cheerful through every adversity. So it was shocking to learn that all it takes to undo me is quarantining for a few months.
That star screams “cheerfulness!” from the refrigerator as I slam together ingredients for yet another steaming pile of mediocrity. (I hate cooking and have never understood why people expect me to prepare food simply because I have ovaries or why they need to eat EVERY day.) It whispers “cheerfulness” as I stomp past to help Andy with a project in his photography studio. It smirks “cheerfulness” as I spray the cat for the 79th time of the day to keep him from a) clawing the wallpaper, b) peeing on the carpet, c) climbing the bookcase,….
How that fecking star has lived until June is beyond me. I asked about a trade-in, but apparently Star Gifts are non-returnable. Believe me, I’ve thought about its physical properties. It could easily be torn up (would I tear off each point individually or just rip through the center madly?); then again, setting it on fire might be more satisfying.
I have to wait seven months before I get a new star. I can do this. I can dig deep and find some joy. Probably. At some point.
In the meantime, cheers to you.
© Tina L. Smith, 2020
