Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

When bad things happen in our lives there seem to be a whole host of justifications one might hear from peanut galleries far and wide. “The universe gives you what you can handle.” “When it rains it pours.” “Bad news comes in threes.” These super trite and unhelpful little tidbits have begun to ignite a fury in me only pinot noir has the ability to mitigate. WTF, universe, did you not read my incredibly introspective and equally smug January post denoting 2018 as my year of bliss?

LOL. Literally, the phrase “year of bliss” I toyed with just months ago now makes me laugh like the crazies that lurk in the dark corners of the Upper West Side. Don’t worry, though, unlike the posts of Christmas’ past I’ll spare you the laundry list of bullshit Q1 bounce-passed in my direction. Kind of.

I think the best place to start for the three people that will read this ramble is that blissfully ignorant declaration that I was in some way worthy of a year without tumult. What kind of narcissist actually thinks the universe adjusts to them? Wasn’t my whole talk track a few months back about controlling my reaction to the curveballs of life? Ok. Control reactions. I have definitely been trying to do that.

My amateur life guru, Lauren, also said something about putting out vibes or frequencies with the goal of eliciting similar reverberations back from the universe. Ok. Stop being a “debby-downer” and/or talking shit about the universe. I *kinda* did that. I low key hope the universe shares my view on sarcasm as a healthy coping mechanism. #metoo right? So not funny. Moving on.

Basically what I’m getting at here is despite the year of bliss label – one that I’ll never repeat again – this year I have been consciously trying to do better. Where someone suggested an improvement could be made in my day to day I at least try to remember to do it. I didn’t want to sweat the small stuff so when an issue arose for the past few months I jumped to apologize, make a change, or adjust in some way. At least that’s how it played out in my mind. I’ve heard the user experience wasn’t quite the same, but potato patahto. I’m doing the best I can.

I did the best I could in mid February when my close friend passed away from cancer at 33 (It was his birthday this past weekend, Happy Bud Light Day Jeff!). He hated when people were sad, so I cried on the inside like a winner at his funeral (just kidding, I awkwardly sobbed from beginning to end of the entire wake-funeral experience in Boston). When things on the home front took a dramatic turn a few weeks later, I told myself I tried my best to make it work. And I really did. And when I felt 2018 maneuvering itself into fault lines of the previous year, I did my best to roll with the punches. When it rains it pours right? Three times? Who knows… but whatever the weather, I would not allow myself to attribute the strife I’d been recently experiencing to a pattern.

It may not have been blissful but I would not let this year be the encore to last year’s tragedy tour. I saw Billy Joel finally! Work has been cranking! Hudson could finally be trusted outside his crate all day! Comparatively I’d say I was thriving. So what if I threw my back out and had to be scooted around Atlanta airport in a wheelchair after a particularly arduous work trip. At least I got to board the plane first! Look how positive I am, I thought. I was making lemonade and drinking it too, and pinot noir… lots of pinot noir.

And then the unthinkable happened… on March 29^th Hudson was hit by a car. It was without a doubt one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, scream-crying after my puppy as I watched him flee from two dogs at the park, only to find him bleeding and terrified on my stoop ten minutes later. I know many reading this have children and while a dog is no comparison to an actual little human, as a single dog-mom I felt completely inept. I was horrified.

When we realized Hudson would live (leg fracture, de-gloving of most of the skin on the injured leg – otherwise fine), I left Hudson at the vet and walked home bloody and shaking to an empty apartment. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve found rock bottom.” I thought as I cried on the kitchen floor. What the HELL was I going to do with an injured dog in a fifth floor walk-up? How did I get here? I needed help. And it came.

Later that day, as I continued to feel sorry for myself, my family and friends orchestrated one of the quickest dog-accident emergency response plans imaginable. Before I knew it I was being whisked (with an incredibly drugged up and freshly bandaged Hudson) to my Pop-pop’s house at the Jersey shore where Hudson could recuperate without stairs to interfere with his fractured leg. Mom flew in from Seattle. Aunts and Uncles fed me. My friends visited and brought Hudson gifts and food. I was in awe of how my family and friends responded to this C-list crisis. Even my dog-averse friends were mobilizing in record numbers.

Don’t get me wrong – I know Hudson is just a dog. And he will be fine. But I’m beginning to realize life is just some version of treading water as the waves big and small roll in. There’s only so much one person can do to prepare for the changing tides. And, when you think you’ve finally got your life jacket on, the next set rolls in to knock you down and take your breath away. How does anyone get out alive?

In reality, no one does. But if you’re like me and live for the ocean and feeling the sun on your face… you find the people that keep you afloat when the sky gets get dark and hold on with grateful abandon. You all know who you are: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot would I do without you?