I'm at a conference delightfully titled "Word Wise" and I've just had the sobering realization that while I fancy myself a writer, I haven't actually written any words just for myself in over six months. It's hard to become what you vision yourself to be if you're not living like its your reality. So here I am - back in the saddle - grateful not to be writing research papers or Covid procedure manuals or emails to preschool parents about updated protocols. The last time I blogged in this space - a space that gave me life and chronicled our family's 4 year adventure in Canada - was Christmastime 2020. In truth, that was the last time it felt like there was time to put words to paper that weren't driven by the outside world and the crises that seem to fuel everyday life. Yet this space is where I come to be most truly myself, truly alive; I wonder why this sacred space is the very space I neglect when the weight of the world intensifies and my soul gets weary? It seems I'd be better served if this were my default, but somehow the crises out there seem to overshadow the in here.
2021 - not gonna lie - I'm done with you. I do not want to wish time away as I realize how fleeting she is, but seriously child, you have GOT to throw us a bone. Just as pandemic crisis was seemingly beginning to abate allowing me to feel the weariness coursing through me, you've gone and turned up the heat - piling weary on top of weary. There is so much noise, so many opinions, so little grace, so little dialogue - and coming to this safe place to process is overwhelming. Even trying to put into words the pinball game inside my head and heart make me want to close my laptop and go back to writing policies and protocols. Those are safe - they're antiseptic, sterile, emotionless. The require zero vulnerability, zero introspection, zero investment. I let myself off the hook from the vulnerability, introspection and investment in the interest of trying to keep preschoolers in school and reassure parents we are doing the allwecan to prevent the spread of allthethings, most especially this persistent virus that has invaded our lives and seemingly intends to stick around for a long visit. It clearly doesn't buy into the notion that fish and uninvited guests smell after three days.
But this virus did give us (well at least me) a gift - I can see it after I dig through the fear that tried to mask it and the anxiety that tried to blur my vision - a time when the world slowed down and we gave ourselves permission to breathe, to stop, to un-busy ourselves. And if I'm really honest, I miss that slower pace. It was jarring when the world stopped on March 13, 2020 (that's when it stopped in Marietta, GA because schools, churches, and businesses all shut down). It's cute we all thought it was going to be a two week gig. I've found it even more jarring, however, that somewhere around April 2021 my little corner world seemed to jump back into March 1, 2020 mentality with no ramp up. I've wondered why and I didn't resist it more, but I chalk that up to being worn out too. The messages I kept hearing were about getting "back to normal" - I'm sick of hearing that. What even is "normal"? I really don't know anymore. In fact, one of the items on my to-do list is to redefine normal so I can hopefully work toward it.
Things I know I'm ready to scratch off the list of normal:
- Not being able to have a different opinion from someone else without that somehow being a character flaw
- Being convinced that Covid would be gone if they (whoever has the opposite philosophy) would just do what we know is right
- Seeing our children jerked around by schools' bouncing between in-person and virtual learning as we administrators try like mad to do the best we can in these unprecedented times
- Hearing the words unprecedented times
- Feeling like we're all on a collective roller coaster that goes on forever and the operator has left their station and we'll never get off (maybe THIS is the real Hotel California?)
