Typically, when things seem particularly bleak, I focus on moments of future happiness that I know are coming. A stressful midterm week this semester was helped by the reminder that graduation was coming and I would get to celebrate 4 years of growth with some of the people I love most. What I feel robbed of right now is not only the goodbyes I will no longer have, but the ability to feel safe and stable in my life.
All of the mile-markers I could once use as ways to ground myself in the knowledge that things will get better are inaccessible now. I was supposed to be teaching English abroad for the next year of my life. I don't know if I will be allowed to leave the country and travel to either of the possible destinations. My mother has to watch her retirement savings empty of the money she's been so carefully putting aside for years now. My grandparents are very literally stuck in their home and can only wave at us through the glass front door when we drop groceries off on their porch.
The day after the 2016 election felt a bit like this on my campus. People huddled inside, hoarded their comfort foods, gave extra hugs. But after that first hard day, life went on. Marches and protests were planned, elections for officials in offices lower than the President were earmarked and campaigned for. There was a path we could all see towards something more beautiful.
My instagram is one of my favorite places to share my feelings in short-form; I've found a lot of wonderful artists who can sum up what I'm feeling and I can share their work on my Story. This is from Morgan Harper Nichols, one of my favorite artists right now whose work really helps me with my own mindfulness.
To me, that is the most inherently isolating, scary, and anxiety-producing thing about this pandemic. I cannot see a clear way through. I know that beautiful things grow out of the ashes of disaster, but I cannot picture that when we all are still on fire.
I'm not sure what the answer is. I don't know how to picture the good things that are coming when I really think the world will be altered significantly by the time this is all done. I'm not sure that what is mildly working for me will work for anyone reading this, but here are the ways I'm trying (and failing -- and reminding myself that it's okay to fail):
Haley Weaver is another artist I love to share.
My entire frame of reference has become the next 3 days. If it's not happening in the next 3 days, it's better for me to not dwell or panic about it. (Some things happening in the next 3 days: the temperatures will be warmer - kinder to step into when we go outside; we will have reached our first official week of isolation - anniversaries are always fun; someone important to me is returning to our town - and I don't have to think about when they're leaving again because it's not in the next 3 days!)
I'm trying to go outside at least an hour a day. Pretend you're a plant, if that helps, because we will also die if we are not outside, at least every once in a while. Taking yourself out of the environment you're isolating in can be uber helpful. Right now I can still go on long, windows-down drives on a picturesque road near my house, so I do. I go on walks around the neighborhood or sit on my stoop with a book and a glass of water. The air won't infect anyone and I promise it will help.
If anything, please read and reread this post from Emily Coxhead.
Reminding myself to practice mindfulness. Before I taught my first virtual yoga class on Wednesday, I had to practice active mindfulness and meditation (meaning I had to sit my ass on the ground, set a timer, and only focus on my breath) because I was on the verge of panicking. Over 160 beautiful souls came to the class which made me so happy and reminded me of just how much we all need a specific time and place to calm down. Create that for yourself. It doesn't have to be meditation, you can paint or write or jog or eat or shower or clean mindfully. Focus on your breath, whatever you're doing. It gives yourself something else to focus on beside the noise that's crowding all of our brains. (Again: the point is the trying)
The intention I set for my yoga class is the one I'm finding myself repeating a lot right now. Community exists even (and maybe especially) when we can't see it. Your community, your loved ones, your family chosen and given - we are all still here. You're not alone even if it really & truly feels like it right now. I promise.
xx
A few years back there was a popular saying: "I see you." When you stop and think about it those three short words linked together in a simple sentence are really powerful. To me, they mean a whole ton more than the more flippant, "I hear ya!" When I hear someone say "I see you" to me something deep inside stands up and pays close attention. The "seeing" implies an openness to deep listening without judgement....sort of sitting with another's struggle or pain or injustice. I just want to let you know how deeply the words you have written here have impacted me. I have daughters in their 20s and 30s and one is north raising a child and in her final requirements of earning her elementary education teaching degree. She is across the country from me. Her husband is across the world serving our country in the Army. While what you've written here should resonate with anyone able to calm down and listen, I find it particularly apprapo for my daughter as she is graduating too. Thank you for sharing your heart.
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