COVID was the best thing to happen to me

Though that's decidedly not what I thought when the positive line nearly popped off the test, it was so eager to prove its point. 

The night I got sick - rather first felt the physical symptoms - I was out at a country B&B, treating myself, in a rather black-and-white kind of way, to a 'me' getaway toward the end of a two week vacation. The only way to rest was to get away! to a B&B! by myself! and drink wine while reading magazines! and etc.! It was cute and mildly Instagrammable until I fevered through the night in that charming French-ish B&B, barely made it through breakfast, and drove straight home - save for a stop at a Walgreens where the aforementioned COVID test enthusiastically delivered the news and I broke down in self-pity while staring at in in my van in a parking lot. I needed to know before I went home to Allan & kids. 

Even on the first two days of self-isolating, my reactions remained as trope-ish as I've allowed the rest of my mental narrative to become. I whined about it in cute social media posts, solicited empathetic one-liners, binged on scrolling and Youtube, and generally felt imposed upon. Unfair! Now! While I'm 'resting'!

Turns out I know even less of true rest now. 

As the standard-issue preprogrammed responses wear out, as my interest in hearts & likes subsides, as the number of Garderners' World and Fixer Upper episodes I'm willing to consume decreases... the real rest comes calling. C.S. Lewis was of course right, and God uses pain (and sickness) as a megaphone, in only the best-for-us ways. 

I have not been more still - less frazzled - more caught up with my own, real thoughts than I am currently, on day 4 of this curious confinement. At home - close enough to observe and hear the comings and goings of the family, but not obliged and in fact very much discouraged from participating in those; sick enough to justify not thinking about cleaning, etc.; not yet officially back at work (to worry about the rat race); and with kids not yet in school - the timing could not have been more perfect to push full brakes on me. 

I have slept. I have stretched. I have drunk a lot of water. I have stuck with simple effective rituals to get the cold and congestion symptoms under control. (I have showered and dressed every day, just to keep my day/night rituals and not slip into grossness). I have read, and finally wrote. And I have finally prayed. 

What I needed, I've known all along. But God knew I wouldn't get there. Too many autopilot hacks, too deep into broken narratives, too negative and stressed, too buried in my own (frequently contrived) busyness-as-identity. He knew exactly how to make it all come to a halt and gave me a perfect out, where in the clearing, after all the thrashing around, I'd hear His voice. It's not a pleasant way to get there, and I hope not a dangerous one (not for me, and prayerfully not for the rest of the family). But I've not felt this clear-headed - this settled and at peace - this mentally healthy, oh irony - in months. 

I have thought and prayed through our family dynamics; our finances; my deepest longings and interests; I have also lounged and dreamed and continued to create, for my growing green spaces; I've been free to lie down and free to get up at any hour of the day; I have even caught up with work without immediate excruciating panic. 

I have found an oasis of peace in the most unlikely circumstance. 

El Roi. The God Who Sees.  

There's nothing wrong with my life

 That's my straightforward and unexpected conclusion from having to isolate with COVID.

I can tell we're predisposed to feel sorry for ourselves, perhaps, as default positioning. Maybe it becomes default at some point.  Also we'll do so if people around us are mostly 'victims' (air quotes intentional - it implies those who self-narrate as 'victims' vs. those who survived substantial trauma and are victims in true definition of the word - often you find among those the 'massive characters seared with scars' who offer most love - most grace). 

But beyond reason I'm grateful that the Light that's seen me and blessed me to see It, always, simply won't let me descent into self-pity. Self-assessment, aplenty; self-criticism (for the most part productive), justified; but not the blamey whining. 

In all aspects of my life, it is blessed beyond measure or justification. It is incomparably comfortable; richly endowed; safe & healthy for all of my people; wildly indulgent compared to a vast majority of the world's population. That I fail to bow in astounded gratitude every day is only my deep short-sightedness; only my weakness; only my pride. 

Undoubtedly waves are raised. Undoubtedly even a graced life experiences turmoil, and smallness of heart, and weariness of spirit. This isn't the place to minimize daily travails or discount a stumbling outlook, typical discomforts, and always (we're ridiculously good at it) worry. 

But my parasympathetic, higher, Spirit-led self always - always - knows better. It's a compass I couldn't turn off if I tried. The unerring pull toward El Roi, The God Who Sees, the uncompromising built-in conviction that Life is Gifted, that I Am Who I Am Supposed To Be, that Joy Is Now, and that Jesus is God, and is Good. 

Stripped of all the noisy bits, I was perhaps planning to excavate the nature of my recent neuroticism, unearth new anxieties that need addressing, organize my Stress Closet. Turns out all of that is just noise. It always is. Layers of cultured, artificial complexity smeared over a life that remains as simple in its intent now as it always has been. To act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God. To stare at creation every day with a set of child's eyes, and wonder without ceasing at every day's breaths and moments. 

I know my attention is jerked toward all the things the societal, cultural paradigms would ask me to be. Financially independent! Socially and politically active! Parentally involved! Solidly fit! Creatively endowed! Professionally accomplished! None of those things in and of themselves are negatives. But the pursuit of this unfathomable complete human is truly destructive if done for the wrong reasons, with wrong - or misguided - motivations, or is seen as a whole-life competition with the ever-more-visible 'others' (because social media is really just life's largest scoreboard). 

Before I choose to do what's next, I need to return to my Why. Whom do I serve with my effort, time, attention, and money? The right answer will always be God, family, and community. It's tempting to write 'self', in the age of self-care, but I do believe that doing the first three correctly actually takes care of Self. It refills spiritual reservoirs, honors our bodily vessels, prioritizes and moves to health our closest relationships, and ensures we're aware of our impact on those near us - and we always have some, by doing - or not doing. 

It feels quite unsophisticated to strip fancy complexities off the Why. What would all the self-help books be about then? But the monetized complexities and conceived anxieties fed to us are the noise. The comparisons, the FOMO, the like-others-ness - that's where the focus gets lost, and the headaches begin. 

This sounds quite eloquent, yet my success rate of living this way hovers near 0%. The cheap and easy ways to stuff my head with daily gluey goo of social media, busyness, feeling sorry for myself are just too accessible, too default-y. It is HARD to keep things SIMPLE. 

To forcibly remove - and watch against the return of - the noise, the clutter, the mindless spending of days just waiting for the next one, the others-ness, the rat races - these things are hard. 

Also creativity. To let out our stories and gifts in ways that flow, that send us into this rich velvety swirling space of putting out the Light inside of us into words, art, form, landscape, song, food, dance - it is to live, to share the very 'us' with others, to outlet - let out - the things that vibe within us waiting for their time under the sun. 

 In 'Real Simple' (a magazine I admittedly don't read for substance), just today:

Drop Your Jaw

If I feel my body tensing up, I relax my jaw, tongue, and larynx, which helps catalyze calm, says Boris Dubrovsky, PhD, a psychologist at New York-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. "When we have racing, anxious thoughts, we tend to subvocalize, creating a constant internal monologue that engages all these muscles even without speech production," he explains. "Relaxing those muscles disrupts the feedback loop, and your thoughts stop midair." Several times a day, whenever I notice my jaw clenching, I open my mouth wide and let my lax tongue hang out for 30 to 60 seconds.

I've read previously that consciously relaxing three tension points - loosening the spot between the brows; dropping tongue off the roof of the mouth; and unclenching tight stomach muscles, all symptomatic of the 'fight' response - does momentarily return the body to a stay of self-awareness, and found it generally to be true. The sentence above, however, re: 'subvocalizing', is a brilliant observation. I do need help stopping my inner monologue (and occasionally playing out both sides of a mental dialogue). 

Quarantine 2020: Day 45

Remarkable. A month and a half of living and working and learning from home.

The property we bought surprises us with edibles - this weekend we discovered that one of the trees is most likely a prolific plum; another, a pear. These in addition to the apple trees that are already the dominant feature of the backyard landscape.

Everyone's hair is in overdrive; Jack's remarkable hair-growing speed has him looking like an ever-increasing bird nest. I searched for hair clippers on Amazon to find that it's a hot commodity currently delivering at the end of May. Oi.

Distance learning is meh. They do work and they do an OK job but the precision implied by teachers will not be achieved by me (for sure in Jack's case; girls are typically fairly disciplined and want to succeed at this new endeavor). Emery just cracks her tiny assignments like nuts, shortly after breakfast, and occasionally needs to redo when she rushed through it; Maya has penciled out her weeks into days and is tracking one subject a day. Jack fights through it all, has a hard time staying focused, and wants to play. Which is fine but I just want him to do a little, pro forma. As long as he's reading / writing, I'm not overly concerned (sorry, Ms. Thompson, it's just not worth the fight and Ivy League isn't his immediate next step #SelfGrace).

My reading list benefits both from at-home of it all; and from weekends which I've easily mandated as no-work zone. So far this year: "Mink River" and "Plover" and "The Adventures of John Carson in Several Quarters of the World" and "The Kind of Brave You Wanted to Be" (all Brian Doyle because the world needs that kind of joy influx right now); "The Unwinding of the Miracle" by Julie Yip-Williams (Jessica McCoy's recommendation; supremely depressing); "A Severe Mercy" by Sheldon Vanauken (a life/love memoir with finding-faith storyline & C.S. Lewis letters to the author, remarkable); "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller (I've followed Don on social media for a while, cannot recall how or why; similar theme of finding-faith and quite a readable book); "Lead Yourself First" (Raymond Kethledge & Mike Erwin; more of a business read on importance of solitude to leadership). And I re-read Gregory Boyle's "Tattoos on the Heart" (the softest, deepest look at God loving everyone - and bringing people back from the margins).

I think there are more but I didn't write things down (which is very much my tagline for my effort to journal, at large). Next up is Brian Doyle's "Chicago" and I'm excited again. I've never not liked what Brian Doyle had to say.

Also cooking. I like it and yet I've forgotten somewhat of a toil of doing it daily. Spent $1,200 at two stores this week - it terrifies me still but then I remember I'm shopping for weeks to come to minimize store trips. If this lasts much longer, I may need to consider an extra fridge/freezer... To help with cooking (and to engage kids), I've made a stellar move of (finally) buying the chairs for the island in the kitchen; the idea is that they can sit there and help prep! Knife skills, here we come (Maya did peel potatoes this weekend; I feel appropriately smug).

Last two months having been heavily overwhelming at work, I struggle to try to write down meaningful pieces, afraid that the best I can strive for is factual accounting of a soulful event, but alas, if I don't, I fear my memory will fail me, and then it'll vanish amidst usual chaos of raising small children while working full time.

Jack's been alarmingly spoiled, in recent months, focusing on having & buying things, complaining of boredom, repeatedly telling us he's 'having the worst day ever', he 'hates this day'. I'm usually tolerant of typical behaviors of a child, but the entitlement undertones cut me deep, remembering what true lack looks like, how little it took to make me happy growing up in rather constrained circumstances, how creative we were in entertaining ourselves with just a handful of toys and large collection of books.

An opportunity came up recently via a talented, determined colleague who volunteers at a parish in downtown Oregon to help cook a Sunday meal for the homeless, and we've signed up. Rather, I've signed Jack and me up. A bit nervous that it may be too soon for him, but I don't think I truly was ever concerned. Maybe that he'd get intimidated by the homeless crowd? That he'd face mental instability face to face?

At any rate, as we made it through cooking a fast meal in a tight but comfortable commercial kitchen at the parish, Jack surprised me, really. He was ready to follow instructions; was willing and interested in helping; quickly oriented himself and didn't have to cling close by; and as the opportunity presented itself to step outside the kitchen and sort some donations, he went right on, without me with other folks there to help, counting goodie bags, sorting, and later handing them out to homeless men and women who were starting to gather for the meal. His open curiosity was thoughtful; his respect for these folks genuine; he wasn't not startled or shy.

It was good for me to see him work with others, quiet but cheerful, ready to help, wanting to do it right. It was good for him to feel needed, helpful, of benefit. I've asked him afterwards what he thought of our time there, and he was sincerely happy to know we helped someone, in some way. I'm relieved to have taken a chance on showing him the less fortunate way to live; a tiny bit of what happens at the margins; to remind him and me both to stay grateful for our lot while expanding our time, talent, and resources, even in the most basic of ways, to help others, to include others into our life, to blend experiences and people, to dig deeper, ever deeper into community. This foray is new to me too, but I feel the tug and pull of it so very strongly.

Taking a loaded assessment of my 'life circle' in-between the holidays. It's obvious even from frequency of posts that opportunities to reflect, those demanding time & care & thought, are alarmingly few, so grounding in some planning before the new year gets up and running (and sprinting and kicking) as usual.

It feels good to have made progress; the understanding of things I have completed or am working on is satisfying. My health and my friendships/relationships are in a much better shape than they were just a couple of years ago. At the same time, our finances are in total disarray despite a decent salary. So that helps narrow down the focus 'slice' and get specific about how to tackle it. I love this kind of planning. It does feel like main areas of life are a tight package, and that some work better than others; so that time & resources & talent can be spend shoring up the weaker spots.

Legal stuff is a mess too - from my citizenship to things like wills and guardian assignment, we're totally unprepared. Irresponsibly so.

And so it looks like 2019 will be a year of more technical stuff - paperwork & numbers - but that in itself isn't so much an issue as mentally organizing myself & Allan to follow through with plans taking shape. It doesn't feel unsurmountable, just ... a lot, and very detailed, and requiring at least some professional help, and I'm not particularly good with micro details, I'm clearly a more macro vision person. But I know 100% that this will be worth SO. MUCH. PEACE. OF. MIND. in the end. Just to feel the weight fall off my shoulders and feel prepared for life's crises & emergencies & unforeseen events. As always and ever, man's plans are not God's plans, and I'm always open-handed about what may be; but having made arrangements for life as I know it, I'll feel better having to handle the unexpected.

Plus I want to show the kids that it's all mental. Always, and everything. Giving up, giving in, playing the victim is all mental. In any circumstance, our only responsibility is to show up fully and do everything in our power to improve our lot, and those around us, and it is ALWAYS possible. Discipline is a powerful muscle.

And as always, and as often as I forget to think of it consciously, Lord willing. Deo volente. I will do the right things insomuch as I can see ahead of me; but keeping my hands, head, and heart fully open to His will always.

For those of us who qualify as life's perennial 'fixers,' leaving something to just be - to not act toward black or white, toward yes or no, toward some fixed outcome - is not native.

Having discovered that in life's discomfort lies the greatest opportunity for growth, I've leaned into the wait. The forced, executed pause between the happening, and the response.

The considered removal of an option to act instantly creates a remarkable amount of unadulterated fragility. It is akin to holding back a wild animal. The impulse continues to tug, tries to pull forward, to alleviate the suspended pregnant pause. It is easier to arrive to a destination - any destination - and recalculate, than to wait at point A and not yet select a point B. I suspect, however, than in this waiting lies a great deal of wisdom.