Up A Creek...

Nothing like being stuck inside, alone, for two months or more to make one feel introspective, to force the examination of one’s life choices — or perhaps lack thereof? I thought I was doing quite well with it all, and really I am for the most part. Certainly better than many. But over the last couple weeks I’ve found my emotions running much nearer the surface, when typically I find it somewhat difficult to express or sometimes even recognize them.

What little physical contact I have when not locked down is now something I try to approximate through Netflix. Sure, I’m still keeping in touch with loved ones digitally, perhaps even with increased frequency now, but I don’t think anyone would argue it’s the same. The thing is, that modus operandi is fairly normal for me. Most of my life is digital and has been for quite some time. I’m used to it. But this lockdown has stirred a craving for more.

One particular show, which had been recommended to me repeatedly, is Schitt’s Creek. Mild spoiler alert if you haven’t seen it. I’m not sure why it took me so long to sit down and watch it — perhaps fears of reliving my own semi-rural upbringing — but I finally did this last week. The first couple seasons were decent, certainly funny at times, but mostly it just served as distraction as I did other things. But no one prepared me for the emotional ravaging that would begin in season three. The relationship between Daniel and Patrick, for me, was visceral. Their connection was heartbreakingly beautiful, and it left me yearning all the more for the same.

I’ve only seen through season five at this point since that’s all that Netflix had available, but the feeling I was left with after that fifth season ended reminded me acutely of the feeling I had as I was leaving NYC after my vacation in 2012 — a sort of potential energy — another choice to make between explosion or implosion — a choice I failed miserably when last faced with it. I wish I could say I had more confidence in the outcome this time around, when really the opposite is massively more true. That was eight fucking years ago and I’ve been imploding ever since, as I put it back then, “sitting in my apartment and folding in upon myself, dimming into nothingness.”

As Stevie sang so emotionally in that season five finale… “Maybe this time…”

My fucking anthem.

Schitt’s Creek logo, Not A Real Company Productions. Image under public domain and used for informational purposes only.