Lessons from the Big Q: Part Two

My own learning curve is more like being on a roller coaster these days.  This ride is a new one.No way to prepare myself for the ups, downs, and turns.  The speed is intermittent where we vacillate between breakneck speeds and crawling up hills that feel unsurmountable. The safety bar is loose and the person running the ride is WAY underpaid and overworked. At top speeds our ride is careening down the rails while a deluge of information, mostly helpful and overwhelming, is dumped into our speeding car. We are splattered at every turn with how to be better at this new world- how dangerous this new world is-how unpredictable this new world is. We are soaked with insecurity and disillusionment.   While riding through the loop-d-loops our hearts remind us that we have to protect the children in our cars. They are on this ride as well. Their end of year expectations are falling out as we go. We scramble to secure our precious cargo with our arm stretched across them as if protecting a passenger in a wreck. We can not even truly share the experience because we aren’t sharing this ride directly with our peers. We are all riding our own speeding, nauseatingly upside down course where screaming would be more natural if we weren’t staring at electronic screens.  This isn’t the roller coaster we signed up for, but it is the one we are on. And it’s hard. And WE are going to hang on...

As we first went into quarantine, I focussed all of my manic energy in getting things done.  All the things. All of them. We truly painted the outside of the house. The sheds. Replaced the kitchen floor.  Organized the sheds. Organized the closets. Rearranged the kitchen. Painted and cleaned the back patio. Closets were reconfigured.   The pantry was reorganized and now I can’t find all of the macaroni.   All the things were getting done because I couldn’t admit that I was devastated to not get to finish the year with my beloved students.   That was the hard thing. 

Yes, we can do hard things that help us realize our strength and potential. And yes, we can do hard things that suck and hurt and leave us feeling empty.  

BUT we don’t have to do all the hard things in the middle of the huge hard thing because of the unbelievable hard things that are still happening. And we don’t know how long this will continue.  There is no foreseeable end to this ride. 

We can do hard things if they need to be done. 

We can do hard things if they will make our lives better.

We can do hard things if they will not drain us completely.

We can do hard things if they will strengthen us.

Hell yes! We can do hard things, but that doesn’t mean that we have to do every hard thing immediately.  (Yes, Rachael I know. I could listen to you more.)

With this quarantine some feel the hard thing is getting up and out of bed. Getting dressed.  Eating responsibly. Moving intentionally. For some of us, we struggle, truly struggle, to even look at the work we need to do online, much less attend the digital meetings required of us.  The hard thing is different for each of us- just like a good lesson plan. That differentiation cannot be underestimated. Each of us is going through this pandemic with their own hard things.  WE need to discern what is accessible and fortifying for us. My hope is that we all conquer a few hard things by doing beautiful things.  

We can do hard things by doing one simple thing. For me, that means that I follow a work schedule which has kept me oriented during such unpredictable times.   One thing can be an email, a text, move clothes from washer to dryer. For some, that might be to go to bed before 3:00 a.m. Do one thing that makes you feel better- more human- more you. Do one thing then try another.  Like consider getting those clothes out of the dryer and hanging them up. One thing.  

Tomorrow, what is your one beautifully hard thing going to be?

Love you, Jasmin!

Lessons from the Big Q: Part One

I like to stay busy. This will come as no surprise to many of you. I like to feel productive and needed.  I abhor wasting time, so I plan ahead to circumvent said waste- making lists of what needs to be done and lists of lists. 

I’ve never been at home, as a child or an adult, for this long in my life.  I’ve always filled everyday with tasks. So, this isn’t new behavior. I like to do. 

For the first few years after Libby got sick I threw myself even further into teaching. I completed two master degrees within the first two years of her diagnosis. My pain and fear was kept at bay while I binged lots of food and even more research studies and teachery texts.  (I’ve also feared the day when Libby’s illness will require me full time and I’ll have to leave my classroom. So I teach like I’m on fire.)

Being at school was my haven. There I could teach, support, cajole, nag and love  my students, coworkers, campus. When it came time for Libby to start high school we made the painful decision to transfer Libby to my campus. Now my refuge became an even safer place for me, as Liberty was with me.  That was good. 

I have occupied myself for years, so I wouldn’t face the deluge of sad. The reality of the child I have now and the loss of the child we had.  I wouldn’t face the guilt of what I could’ve done or not done to keep Libby healthier. What I could’ve done or not done to be better for Mariah while she mourned for the sister she had and the different sister she has. Staying busy may have saved me in some ways as I’ve been able to continue the work I love and love the people I have.   

Until this quarantine I didn’t realize how much I have built myself around teaching. On being productive.  On giving and doing. Didn’t realize how important my time with students and peers is to keep my armor on.  So one thing I’ve had to answer is who am I if I’m not teaching?  

From the beginning of spring break to three weeks in I was a manic house painter, cleaner outer, organizer and stay busier. I was hiding again from the big sad.  I prefer to be outside when it’s warm.  I like working outside. Relish it.  I was especially busy.  Too busy.  

After spring week I set a schedule for myself and the house. Schedules keep me sane.  Instead of getting up at 4:00 am I get up around 5:00.  Got into the habit of being in my new “school” space by 8:00.   Rachael lovingly calls me a Labrador puppy: 100 miles per hour in all directions.   I know my business is annoying. 

I didn’t break down until four weeks into the Big Q. 

I cried for my students and for myself. It hurt so much because I rarely cry.   If I even actually let it all out I wouldn’t stop for an ugly long time.  Definitely a leak in my iron clad armor. And it’s okay. 

Gratefully, I get to see most of my students through video conferencing once a week.   I’m still teaching albeit differently.  Many things will be different after this quarantine is over. Including parts of myself.  

The morning after my “cry fest” and during my run I knew this amazing fact: I can be still.    And it’s okay.   It’s going to be okay if I’m not productive in the myriad of ways that I expect for myself.  

In my attempts at stillness I’m learning that we’re okay.  Libby is okay and mostly spectacular.   Mariah is wonderful and solid in her loving. We’re okay. 

And it’s going to be okay.  

And I can give myself permission to just be still.   I am giving myself that permission.   

Being at home for the first time in my life for this long is showing me that admitting the sad is there, with guilt as a side kick, doesn’t mean I’m embracing them.  It means that sad things happen and we’re ALLOWED to be sad and find lots of beautiful as well.  

Lesson one: be still, admit the ugly and embrace the blessings. 

I’m trying.   I’m a work in progress.