It’s December. December conjures a great many feelings. For many, it is embracing the holiday spirit(s) and all of the conviviality of gathering together with family and friends. For others, it is giddy thoughts of the first possible snowfall. Some focus on short day length and cold temperatures. Others still, obsess about the imminent cold and flu season, and avoid public places. And then there are those who simply embrace this time matter-of-factly, attempting to go with the flow: it is the twelfth, twelfth.
Monthly demarcations have been set forth for us; twelve nearly equal increments. December is lodged squarely between the eleventh twelfth and the first twelfth. In case you haven’t realized it by now, a week from this coming Saturday will be the twelfth of the twelfth twelfth. It is also at this moment you realize all of this is getting a bit redundant. Who speaks of December in such a way, anyway? There is a point.
As a creature of habit, I often take seemingly similar situations and assume that whatever place/time they happen to be in, will be pretty much the same as the collective prior memories I equate to being the same event.
So what the hell does that mean? It simply means I hope to continue to learn more fully that I have yet to experience every different experience. I have a dear friend who often reminds me to, “Do Thursday things on Thursday”. I really try to do just that; I am writing this newsletter, and it is Thursday. Nowhere is it written that every similar moment is the same moment. I don’t wish to be guilty of contempt prior to investigation. My crystal ball remains partly cloudy. My powers of prognostication have proven to be spotty. I think I will simply try to embrace whatever the twelfth twelfth holds.
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