In A Mirror, Darkly: Reflections on 2013
Vincent Truman
As 2013 draws to a close, I cannot help but wax nostalgic about the journey that brought me from the distant land of 2012 to here. Because such an exercise is so rooted in feelings, I find it best to view the last year at the gut level, without research. As such, I might get some of this wrong, but I’ve found how one remembers is often more telling than the events themselves.
The year erupted full of brilliance and sorrow, as my adopted family – framily, as we call it – was staying with me over the holidays. They probably could have been anywhere, or even just with themselves, but they chose to stay with me. As New Years wandered in, I was touched with their presence, as well as mortified, once again, that my marriage was over. Or still over. This latter feeling had been like a ballpin hammer, each strike to my heart completely expected yet completely debilitating at the same time. The two feelings smashed together like a James Cameron film and an iceberg, and I felt those hot tears that seem to burn their way out of one’s eyes and sizzle down one’s face. And the oldest child of my framily – we’ll call her Katherine, because that’s her name – gave me a wonderful, wholly adult hug. And things were better.
I met a woman a few days later, who was brash, bossy, and beautiful. For the very first time since I met the person who I later married, I was genuinely attracted to someone. I had been attracted to a couple others earlier, but usually that was marred in guilt (the little voice in my head needlessly reminding me that I swore allegiance to one woman and how dare I look at someone else – thus illustrating either the depth of my commitment to my marriage or the depth of my denial at its demise). We texted for months and eventually had a single date in May (she didn’t live in my state, let alone city), but she vanished almost immediately afterwards. I was saddened by this, but it didn’t kill me. It took very little time for me to silently wish her well, though, and things were better.
Somewhere along the way, I dropped out of two gangs to which I had identified myself with: atheism and feminism. Although I am deity-free and pro-equality, I found the louder voices in both to be just a little close to the fundamentalists I had left behind in my earlier religious and traditional life. I’ll be a part of any group I identify with, but when I’m instructed on the parameters of my participation while simultaneously being unable to respect the direction of said group, I bow out. I no longer have a burning need to belong; it’s enough that I have a burning need to do good and be true doing it.
The spring saw me attacking a new script, entitled “Killing Angela”, and seeing that through to production later in the year. Bolstered by the perfect leading actor in the form of my dear friend Kimmy Higginbotham, the show was a wild success in my eyes, and less so in the critics’ eyes. But again, it didn’t kill me. I knew the show was good, and I no longer needed a critic to echo my own sentiments.
As I was writing “Angela”, I did whisk by a few grotesque anniversaries: a year since I last spoke to my ex-wife, a year since I filed the divorce papers, a year since I alone appeared in court to dissolve a marriage I didn’t want dissolved. All of them hurt, but none dropped me to the ground like the original events themselves. So many days in 2012 were spent curled up in a fetal position on my living room floor, crying in such a manner that sounded foreign to me. Insanity was within my grasp in those days, both inspired by my sense of loss and the seeming dispassionate distance felt from many I called friends (in layman’s terms, it was like having a disease and many people didn’t want to say anything, for fear of catching it – there is a lonely abyss there I find hard to convey).
August 2013 saw me direct, write, edit and score a short film for the 48 Hour Guerilla Film Competiton, which I did on my birthday (I’ve always liked to work on my birthday). The crew and cast were upbeat and enthusiastic, and the mood on-set was encouraging and healthy. The film got three nominations, including Most Original Concept; it won none of them, but again, I didn’t mind. It was just good to have the experience and to work with my friends.
In the autumn, I started seeing a woman who was quite lovely and, though opinions differ, far too pretty for me. But when I noticed similar traits to my former life, or former wife, I ended it. No blame, no game. And again, it was mildy painful to end things, but better that than to spend seven or eight years attempting to be approved by someone who wasn’t going to approve. She wrote several emails and sent letters and postcards, enough that a younger me would have quailed, but I made up my mind and that was that.
So what has 2013 been for me, I ask myself? I have not only reclaimed myself, but I have continued the growth that was stunted in 2012. I have gotten love back, and I find that simply thinking of my framilies and friends can inspire a warm smile and really good thoughts. That’s new for me. And things got better.
