In a moment of overwhelm, feeling up to your eyeballs in thoughts, feelings and things to do, did you ever blurt out: “Stop the world, I want to get off!”.
I know I have. Reflecting on the past year, in some ways, the world did stop. At least going out to stores, restaurants, and museums stopped. Except for walks in nature and work if it was essential, we basically stopped going outside our homes.
Yet the truth is, the world kept spinning. What stopped was gathering, hugging, or shaking hands. What stopped was in person conversations. What stopped was the persistent idea that a pandemic would never happen and that we had made significant progress toward a socially just society.
For a moment, imagine if the world really did stop. The sun would not rise or set, and the waves would not crash onto the shore. What an epic disaster that would be! It did not happen. Phew!
Instead, what I have wanted when overwhelmed and what I got during the pandemic, was a pause, a period of time to gather my thoughts, my people, and my better self.
During the pandemic, there was no need to plan where to go for dinner on Friday night or consider what to wear. We ate at home. I wore comfortable clothes and indoor shoes while working at my desk or doing housework. I put on sneakers to take a walk in the evening.
There was no need to plan my exercise. I did a yoga practice at home daily and weekly on zoom. I got my aerobic exercise in an evening walk around the lake, at times catching the sun setting or moon rising.
No need to consider what we would do for entertainment, my husband and enjoyed great meals and walks. We read and watched the news, series, or movies, while sipping tea after our walk and before bedtime.
When we walked, we speculated about what would happen next in the series we were watching, in our community, country, or the world.
This respite from decision-making left room for choosing anew. I learned a lot about my self and about my husband of three decades. I have since chosen a more relaxed hairstyle and clothing, leaving more room to focus on what is important, like my relationships and my contribution to the world.
Now that I can choose again, I do not want to go back to being busy. A slower lifestyle affords more time to process and learn from life. I plan to continue writing and teaching, supporting those who care for young children, for creators of all kinds and those who are connecting to their own inner child.
I plan to be there for my family, especially the grandchildren who require the amount of tending needed only by the very young, very old, or infirmed. My circle of influence has become both smaller and larger at the same time.
A few weeks ago, our community re-opened and we ventured back out. We bicycled, ate Japanese food in a courtyard, went to an art opening and a block event. I wore a dress and lipstick.
I talked like words were food and I was starving. My husband gestured he wanted to go home about three times before I was ready.
You could say I was excited, maybe I over-shared. It was both exhilarating and awkward. It felt like everyone was my friend, even if I did not know them well before not seeing anyone for a year. I was so happy to see them; they looked so beautiful in my eyes.
In younger years, I was considered naïve, perhaps still. I am not sure it is a bad thing, if it means that my heart and mind are open. The difference is between now and then is that now I have healthy boundaries or the ability to choose what I entertain in my mind and heart and let go of what does not support me and the contribution I make.
But that first night out, I was wide open. The more I talked, the more my interest in conversations piqued. When we left, I was hungry for more. I remembered how I love conversation. Not small talk, that I can take or leave, but meaningful exchanges of thoughts and ideas.
It got me thinking, what else have I learned during the break and now the re-entry? I want to give meaning to what happened when we stopped doing what we were doing and then started up again. If I claim it, I give it more value and am apt to remember it, otherwise I might lose or forget it.
I have planned a series of blogposts, seven in all, to look at what I have learned. It won’t be the same for you, but my sharing will trigger thoughts about what you learned.
The process will be deep and measured, like gathering rocks and sifting them for pieces of gold.
Remember we went into and lived through the pandemic together and we can come out of it together.
The next post is called, “Go in and out the windows”.
See you there.