Who Let Me Out?

I spent the holiday season taking the scarce non-working, non-sleeping moments to walk and shop in the city, darting in and out of both "old favorite" stores and "never get to" ones. I came home with bags of items planned for and not, and I gave wrapped and bagged and shipped and not-even-wrapped gifts for Chanukah and post-Chanukah, and post-post Chanukah. And all the while, I said I should stop letting myself out of the house, if all the shopping was what came from being out of the house.

And then, in those shopping moments and in the giving moments, I thought about the moments, just a few years ago, when being out of work meant I really, really couldn't let myself out of the house. When every purchase was questioned, every dollar thought through, every choice weighed in the context of whether I'd work tomorrow or next week or next month, or maybe not for a really long time. And I began to realize that this year's shopping sprees (which, in the scheme of holiday shopping, might not even qualify as sprees) were not just an expression of this year. They were a celebration of a multi-year journey filled with ups and downs and disappointments and discoveries. They were a celebration of a weight being lifted (at least temporarily), and of the recognition that it is sometimes overnight work that lifts the weight. They were a celebration of the opportunities that come along when you least expect them. And they were a celebration of the people who have hung in during the good days and the not-so-good ones.

As I enter this new year, I hold on to that feeling of letting myself out of the house--and I reflect on the journey that has made being "let out" such big deal. Sometimes, it's not so much about what you give, or about what you get. Sometimes, it's really about where you allow yourself to wander...