Mouth of the South
Some people love the holidays. Then there are folks like me who feel relieved once the dust settles and I arrive wearied back at my house. After the onslaught of local travel and forced festivities, I found myself utterly exhausted. There’s no rest for the wicked. I also don’t take time off of work during this time of year. So, it was back to the digital grindstone for me the day after Christmas. To be fair, it was really hard to get up and log in to my work computer on Thursday, but equally, it makes me thankful I currently work from home, and my commute is only twenty feet from my bed.
Don’t get me wrong; I love spending time with most of my family. This year just felt like a lot for my wife and I for some reason. As childless forty-somethings, we are often just fixtures in the background at most gatherings. I’m the weird uncle who talks about frogs and often says things that either offend people or make them belly laugh—or, in the right context, both. We all have our roles, and I’ve settled into mine. Growing up, my mom called me “the mouth of the South” because I just never knew when to shut up. I guess I still don’t.
I don’t put on pretense for anyone. Which has resulted in awkward moments where I say what others can’t or won’t. My wife understands that I just can’t fake the funk in most social settings. If something is off, I’m usually the one that will address it. My hope typically is to stop dancing around things and get them in the open to address them and move on. I imagine to the people who are more relegated to passive aggression, my approach is unwanted, and I get that. If my lips don’t betray me, my face will. So, either way, people typically know how I feel in a given scenario. It’s a gift and a curse, I suppose. One thing is for sure: it’s always exciting because even I don’t know what might come out of my mouth next.
This is the time of year when people will often resolve to make changes. I typically don’t make New Year’s resolutions. My only hope is to just continually work hard at my craft and be better in the areas that are important to me despite any changes on the calendar. The discipline of writing these articles weekly for nearly two years hasn’t moved the needle for me regarding social media clout or internet fame, but it has given me a voice with a very niche group of committed readers. To those people, I’m eternally grateful. Especially on weeks like these when the creative tank feels dangerously close to empty.
These weekly columns have forced me to write when I don’t want to—like this week. It has forced me to put pen to paper when I felt I had nothing to say—like this article you’re currently reading. Mostly, I’ve learned how to distill complex emotions and memories into bite-size chunks that several of you have seemed to enjoy. I hope the new year holds more of the same revelation and introspection. I think, if anything, like I mentioned about myself at parties, I just never know what I’m going to say until the words begin to flow. Sometimes, that’s okay. I hope you and your family had a good holiday. Here’s hoping 2025 is a big year for us all, and this old “Mouth of the South” doesn’t say or write anything that gets me in too much trouble. Happy New Year.
Stan this weeks article could have been written by Glenna! You always know what she is thinking even if she doesn’t say it! It is both a wonderful thing and as she would say, a curse at times! I hope nothing but the best for you and Jess in the coming new year! As an aside, I’m almost finished with The Things they Carried. We need to get together and discuss it after I’m done. Love and hugs always!!
Well done, Stan. My mother used to tell me that her hope for me was to grow into my mouth.