Day 4: Nourish & Notice - Healing

 Dear Reader,

I have been fighting something like omicron (but maybe not omicron - my home tests were negative) for a week as of today. But this morning...I feel it lifting, and I feel so much better! 

To nourish joy today I finally left the house (to do a PCR test, but still!). I went for a walk in the forest near my home, taken the lesser-traveled paths, and veering onto a new path each time a person might come by, and I kept my KF94 on. But I got outside, and felt the soft loam of the forest floor underneath my sneakers, and it felt so good to leave the house.

I spend a lot of time loving my house and feeling grateful for it, but this house and I have been spending too much time together, and it's hard to have a joyful reunion if we're always together. Leaving for a bit makes me remember the world awaiting me. I've been curled in on myself during this pandemic, my world shrinking to such a small space, and today I'm dreaming of adventures yet to come. I can't wait to go backpacking this summer, to dive into alpine lakes, to stretch my legs long despite a heavy pack, to sleep under stars inhaling the deep scent of pine, fir, cedar. Today's little walk was a reminder that those things will come back, that it won't be like this - inside, sick, frustrated - forever.

I also nourished joy by making a crock pot full of garbanzo bean curry to enjoy for dinner tonight. I added to the spices in the recipe - bright red chili peppers, a curled stick of cinnamon, a little cumin - and took joy in the bright colors of the vegetables (golden peppers, bright carrots, purple onion, yellow potatoes, white garlic) on the bamboo cutting board; the bright blue enameled pot sitting on the stove (soaking the beans) never fails to cheer me up.

And then I wrote a half dozen cards for friends: a letter to Tessa reflecting on this stage of our lives; little notes for a couple of her friends (living far from home this year for the first time, and they are part of my community, too), a friend experiencing illness, a friend with a new job, a friend who did me a favor. I have a little secretary with a fold out desk and bins at the back where I store the accoutrements of letter writing: a tin of pens, a stack of stamps, and a wide selection of cards just waiting for the perfect occasion. When a person in my life has an event, large or small, it's so fun for me to flip through cards to find the one right for them, and to have a sort of mis en place for letter writing. I write these notes and letters in order to nourish my friends, but it is not lost on me that it nourishes me just as much (or more) to sit and reflect upon the good people in my life, the passage of time with them, the ways in which they have been there for me and the ways in which I aspire to be there for them.

Noticing joy - well, I must admit that it's been a little tougher as I've been solo and sick. But the purpose of this blog is to remind myself, so...

I noticed that my crazy dog is calming down, and we walked by several dogs today without him barking and losing his mind. Ahhh - it IS possible!

I noticed that my crazy dog took short work of walking in mud, then all over my new-ish white running shoes, and that now they are imprinted with memories of our many walks together. These are shoes for living, not fashion, so as he dances so near to me to be on me, I will take the reminder of his joy in being outside and exercising as my own.

I noticed that man who checked me in, and the lady who did my PCR test, were kind and patient.

And... I've been avoiding something for too long, and today I feel strong enough to tackle it. I'm anticipating that tomorrow I will be able to write about that, but for today, I'll just hint that I am feeling more determined and capable than I have in a while, and that hopefulness is joyful.

And while I'm just being a bit obscure, I'll add one more hint: I have an instinct that my daughter is going through something big and a bit scary right now, but that she is okay, and that this is a part of who she is becoming and who she is meant to be, and that in addition to the end of something it might be the beginning of something wonderful. Fingers crossed that I am right about the happy ending on this. It's all instinct, but I trust my instincts, so I am sitting this one and waiting for new information and clarity.

I notice that my instincts are good, so when they're loud like this, I listen. I like this about myself, although it's a bit strange. It pops up at random times, and I can't control it, but when my body talks this loudly I listen, and I've learned to trust it. Only time will reveal the truth, but I'm noticing this part of myself and joyful at the message that all is going to be well.

Okay, I've got a job to tackle, and it's time for me to get going. That's all for today - see you tomorrow!

Day 3: Nourish and Notice, Creative Pursuits

Dear Reader,

I'm going to have to get real to begin today: my pursuit of joy is off to a bumpy start. The bug that took me down last Monday night is not going away, and I can hardly believe how frustrating it is! Headache + nausea + sore throat is not something I enjoy, and it does not inspire me towards joy.

However, I figure this is just a chance to double down on my commitment. Nothing like a challenge, right?

So here we go:

Today I nourished joy by being a teensy bit creative. I ordered a cross stitch kit earlier this week, even though I've never done anything like that in my life, and even though I need to put a stitch in my bathrobe (and have needed to do so for about a month), even though "the domestic arts" like sewing, knitting, quilting, scrapbooking are generally not my thing. Even though I have no energy from being sick, and a to-do list that is really kind of extraordinary (and growing as I miss time from work).

But I've been loving it.

I picked a sweet little pattern of cherry blossoms and leaves with a  pair of little songbirds sitting on one branch. It's mostly pinks and soft greens, and the palette is soothing, and it reminds me of Tessa because she loves cherry blossoms even more than I do, and the little avian pair looks loving and happy. I let it sit for a couple days after receiving it, because, frankly, despite the soothing palette, it was intimidating. There are a half dozen or more types of stitches, more than twenty colors of thread, and directions in little tiny font. Who does this for fun?! This is a beginner kit?

But today I decided that if I had to be housebound for another day, I needed to try something creative, and I didn't have the energy to work on my book, so I dove in.

I started small, with the outline stitch. Each leave (more than 50) has a little dash of veins through the middle, in the outline stitch, so I grabbed the deep olive green and learned that each "floss" has six threads, and that different stitches use different numbers of threads. Having figured this out, I started.

My stitches are a bit wobbly and uneven. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. I already did one leaf in the wrong shade of green.

And yet... 

I like what I'm creating.

I'm already improving.

It's meditative.

I feel connected with hundreds of years of women who, denied the workplace or "manly" creative pursuits, used needlepoint in order to express themselves.

I keep thinking about Jane Austen and her novels, with women sitting in the corners, biding their time (and how likely Elizabeth Bennett couldn't care less to do such things). I keep thinking that if there was a house full of men in 1800, I could sit quietly and stitch leaves and petals and songbirds into being, and allow my mind to wander, and listen to what they said, and learn about their goings on and the worlds forbidden to women, and I'm glad to feel this connection to my female ancestors, and I'm also glad that soon enough I will leave the house to live in the big world, not trapped into needlework but choosing it as one of many diversions.

I keep thinking about how my mind got quieter as I stitched, and how learning a new skill is kind of fun. I am thinking about how allowing myself to be creatively silly - this will never end up in an art gallery, and perhaps I'm the only one who will ever notice it - is actually really joyful. There is no audience except myself, and there is no mission except to allow myself to get caught up in the moment.

So today I nourished joy quietly, and started a little creative project just for myself. If I ever finish it (I'm telling myself "no pressure" as the journey is more important than the destination) I will hang it up on my wall near my bed so I can look at it and think, "Hey! I did that!" and so I might just see it through.

And as for noticing joy? That one was much easier to grab onto today.

My friend knew that I was sick, and asked if I needed anything - and she meant it. I texted her a little Trader Joe's list along with my gratitude, and a few hours later the necessary supplies showed up on my front porch. (Dear fellow West Seattleites: I love you and I do not plan to get you sick, even if it's not covid, so I'm staying home and away from grocery stores.)

Isn't it lovely to have friends who do things like that? When I first got sick, another friend delivered me soup, bread, salad, dessert, and a magazine with a sweet note. If I need anything, a half dozen people would be willing to help me without blinking, no questions asked. I know this about my life, and I appreciate it more than I can say.

I ventured out for a little walk with Chance (mask on, and far from Lincoln Park because there are always lots of folks there) and he was so joyful to leave the house at last. He is so easy to make happy - such a sweet pup, for all of his bouncing and craziness. I'm so glad he's in my life. We only went a mile when he really needed many miles, but today was an improvement over yesterday so we'll take the win.

I've been alone all week except for Chance, but I'm not lonely. This too shall pass, and my phone beeps with little messages from friends, so I never feel totally alone even when I am.

I just put fresh sheets on the bed (after a week of being sick it was time) and I absolutely love the bliss of a freshly bathed body slipping into fresh sheets. The simplest of pleasures and I get excited every time!

It's time for me to make another cup of tea with lemon and honey (lemon and honey were in that care package, but I have enough tea to make it for months!), so I'll stop here. There will be more joy to notice tomorrow...and my fingers are crossed that such joys include a disappearing headache and a throat that doesn't scratch! 

PS It feels like cheating, but writing this is its own form of joy. I'm glad I decided to do this, even when "Dear Reader" might just be me! I need to remind myself of joy, and how it exists even in my imperfect life. I haven't been seeking it enough lately, and I'm determined to do better at that. This blog is a great accountability partner. Day three and going strong - only 362 days to go!

Day 2, Nourish & Notice: A little late is still showing up

 As I went to bed last night I realized that on Day 2 of my 365 day challenge to notice joy... I hadn't come here to write this down.

There's a metaphor in there that is so blindingly obvious that I want to cross it out and start with something less ridiculous, but instead I'm going to shrug and say, "well, I showed up, so that still counts."

So, here's thoughts from last night:

I'm still fighting the omicron that's not omicron (have those symptoms, feeling fatigued, but testing negative on home tests?) so today I noticed that joy can be quiet. Sometimes joy isn't dancing in the kitchen with wild abandon, but the joy is there none-the-less.

Yesterday's nourishing joy looked like wearing a soft sweater and warm socks, curling up on the sofa with a favorite mug containing a favorite tea with lemon and honey, reading a book, Chance at my feet and ever loyal. It looked like receiving a postcard from my daughter and remembering that though she might be away at college and making her own way, we still have a heart connection and our love is unshakable. 

Yesterday's nourishing joy also looked like nourishment itself. I'd been eating all kinds of random things this past week, unenergetic and uninspired, but yesterday I decided to make veggies bourguignon and mashed potatoes. Pulling the vegetables out of the drawer, and setting up my kitchen island with the cutting board and my favorite chef's knife, mis en place, everything in its place, is a wonderful feeling. About a year or two ago I bought an enameled cast iron braiser in a lovely night-sky blue, and cooking in it is a treat: wonderful brown bits form under the onions, garlic, and mushrooms, and it's so sturdy and made to last for generations that I swear that food cooked in it tastes better. Taking this time to take care of myself - because surely a dish made with onions, mushrooms, carrots, cauliflower, and parsnips must be healing - made me feel much better, even if I do keep sneezing.

And yesterday's noticing joy was so much about my home. My house is like a living, breathing creature that wraps me in its embrace, offers me comfort that I couldn't dream of asking for. The cozy sofa with a blanket close by, a stack of books within reach. Big windows where I could look out and see fog in the big cedar tree outside. A cupboard so stocked with food that I could be sick for a couple more weeks and certainly not starve. Light streaming through the windows, and the sound of foghorns (so soothing) drifting inside. In the past few years I've gotten really into houseplants, and my living and dining rooms are bursting with their green life, and I really do think that they make the space feel different. The art on my walls isn't fancy, but each piece is hand selected and meaningful to me - the landscapes are places I love. There are little silver-toned frames with pictures tucked everywhere, mostly of Tessa, reminding me of shared times. 

My house has been a constant in my life for twenty years now. There are marks on the doorway to the basement where the baby gate was once affixed; there's a scratch on the bottom of a door where Chance once protested being locked in a room. The furniture is mostly hand-me down, and this used to bother me so much, but I'm embracing it now. "Grandpa's bookcase" is my favorite: my beloved grandfather left it to me, and it takes center stage in my home, its carving and glass front doors making it beautiful, but its family connection making it priceless. Other pieces aren't so fancy: the chairs passed down by a college roommate when she upgraded her set, the kitchen table from Buy Nothing, the side table from one neighbor, the sofas from another. Almost everything has a story, and it's a hodge-podge collection that feels rich in history and friendship. I might be biased, but I think it all somehow fits together, a hand curated selection that is interesting, thoughtful, warm. When new friends visit, they always tell me "your home feels great!" and old friends return here over and over again, comfortable in my home's comfort. Many of my friends have fancier things, and I may be biased, but I think the coziness of my home makes it the go-to spot even though it isn't as stylish as some.

One of the dining room chairs has scratches underneath it where Tessa's booster seat used to sit. Those scratches - deep and worn - upset me when I first discovered them (I really love those solid wood chairs, how could I be so foolish as to let this happen?!), but now I'm pretty sure that's my favorite chair of the set. The marks are reminders of sitting at the table, Tessa's soft wispy gold curls framing her big blue eyes, talking endlessly of ponies and horses.

I've been listening to a lot of records lately, and they are bringing me so much joy. Having to stop and turn them over makes me really commit to listening to the music, and there is something so connected with touching the album, noticing the artwork, choosing which side to listen to. Raising the arm to place it softly on the outer groove, and that soft crackle before the music begins, is a meditative moment where the almost-silence is a calm thrill.

The fog is still here today, and the world seems quieter. I've been sick almost a week, and the isolation - on top of nearly two years of Covid - could be awful, but instead I'm trying to root myself deeper into the fallow field, ready to emerge from sickness, a global pandemic, and the ups and downs of life stronger than I went in. I'm not sure that I'm succeeding with that just yet (there is no joy in dishonesty, and I think being truthful with myself is a goodness that has its own hopeful joy), but I'm trying.

I'm looking forward to healthy days when the world and I can embrace again, fearlessly and with abandon. But while I wait for those days, I'm finding the quiet joys of my life, nourishing me. Today I'm a day late, and I don't have a grand adventure to share, and the belly laughs are yet to come, but I'm here, and I'm grateful for that. Quiet joy is still joy.

Nourish & Notice: Joy, Day 1

 Dear Reader,

Do I have readers? Maybe, maybe not. I haven't been here in ages, and I haven't been consistent, and I haven't known what to say, and, well, I've been a bit of a mess.

We're just shy of two years into coronavirus, the global pandemic that has upended all of our lives. It's been a horror show, and everything has changed. I have been to an indoor restaurant one time in that time. I haven't been on a plane, or sat in a theater. I'm careful about getting close to people. I'm in front of my computer far too often.

I'm dissatisfied, a bit unhappy, and more stuck than I've been since I was married. The days have been carrying on in a never changing way, and the monotony is... horrifying.

I've always been good at finding the silver lining, but lately I seem to have lost all sight with the spark within me. I haven't felt inspired, optimistic, or energetic. And you know what? I'm utterly sick of it. I'm somewhat famous for my resilience, my optimism, my ability to make lemonade (the metaphorical kind, although my fresh squeezed lemonade is pretty great, too).

And it's time to do better.

I've had a flash of brilliance, and I'm going to dive right in with it. 

I'm going to create a year of nourishing joy.

My plan: to seek out something deeply joyful every single day for a year, and to notice the joyful things that drop into my lap. Nourish & Notice (sounds like the name of a great self help book, dontcha think?).

My friend Michele said something to me the other day that really stuck. She said that she'd heard about some CEO who asks interview candidates if they are lucky, and he only hires those who say "yes" to that question, because he believes that those are the people who find ways to seek luck, and in doing so, they create it. Well, I've stopped creating my own luck. I haven't been looking for four leaf clovers, and I haven't gone running to the shore when the orcas are there... and so I haven't been finding orcas or four leaf clovers.

It's worth pointing out that I'm a crazy-lucky person when it comes to both of these things. I've found hundreds of four leaf clovers over the years, sometimes many at one time. Once I was camping with another family and casually mentioned this skill as I plucked a four leaf clover out of the grass by my car, and my friend - in amazement - said he'd never seen a four leaf clover before. I gave it to him, and his kids clamoured for him to give it to them. "No problem!" I chimed in, "I'll just get one for each of you!" and within a few minutes, each of them had a lucky clover to press within the pages of their books. And the whales - I know people who have lived here their whole lives, never seen a wild orca... but I have. More times than I can count. It might have something to do with spending as much time as possible near the water, scanning the waves; it might have something to do with following the whales on Orca Network and jumping in my car to drive a couple of miles to wherever they might be at at that moment, standing on the shore with a pair of cheap binoculars in hand, grinning ear to ear in the wind and rain.

But I can't remember the last time I saw orcas, and I seem to have lost my knack for finding lucky clovers.

Or have I?

I've also lost some of my capacity for joy, and I'm positive that these are connected. It's time for me to create my own joy again, for that is its own kind of luck. It's time for me to put in the effort to find what awaits me by seeking it, nourishing it, noticing it.

So here I go.

My plan:

To do something every day whose sole purpose is to nourish joy. This must be something that I dedicate time to - even just a few minutes - and put in some effort - even minimal. This is me taking control of my narrative again (I AM a lucky person, I am optimistic and resilient, and I make great lemonade that sweetens my life as well as those around me). So, here's my plan: Do something just a little out of the ordinary every single day, taking time to feel it in my soul. The idea is that I have to do something to make it happen: I can't just delight in what falls into my lap, but I have to actively participate in it. 

I have to make my own luck, and trust that the universe has my back when I do that.

The other part is that I want to notice. I want to create my own luck, and I want to carve time out of my life for the nourishment of joy, but I also want to just accept the lovely things that DO fall into my lap. So: my plan is to nourish and notice joy.

It's that easy, and it's that simple. And that hard. And I'm going to write about it here, and see how it changes me.

Today's nourish:

I'm sick with something like omicron but testing negative (no, that's not my joy!) so I'm home and not feeling well. But instead of just moping, I decided to:

- Color a page of a mandala coloring book while watching the old movie Chocolat (which is what inspired this - Vivienne grasps at joy).

- Start this blog, which feels creative and hopeful.

Today's notice:

- My loyal pup Chance has just been so gentle with me when I'm not feeling well. He's an exuberant beast, so full of bounces, but instead he has been calm and uncomplaining because he knows I haven't been well.

- I held a boundary that I needed to hold. That felt good, right.

- I really love my home. It's cozy and safe here, and there are lush houseplants and lots of good books and extra candles and a fridge full of food and a closet full of choices, and it's calm and peaceful.

- I've been playing vinyl records, and I just love the ritual of them. I have to get up to turn them over - one side is so few songs! - and it makes me stop and notice the music, re-engage with it rather than letting it take over as background noise. Today I listened to Harry Belafonte and Judy Collins with a little Taylor Swift mixed in.

- Carolyn gave me a Pride & Prejudice mug when I went back to teaching. Drinking tea out of it makes me so happy!

- My text chain with Mai and Jeannette is a source of connection.

-I may be feeling blah but I had the energy to write this post, and that's something. That is something indeed.

***

A list of things that bring me joy, to remind me when I feel stuck:

- Run to the whales (I live one mile from the Sound. This is not a complicated thing to do!)

- Meditate in the forest (there are many forested parks around here, and the mountains aren't too far away

- Swim in the sea (I did this on New Year's Day and it made me feel alive, strong, happy, awake)

- Write a poem

- Write a letter to a friend

- Host an event at my home (girls' weekend, dinner party, tea party, BBQ, snow day hot chocolate)

- Go away for the weekend

- Camping, hiking, backpacking

- Skinny dipping in alpine lakes (harder to do as our mountains are busy and I'm not an exhibitionist... but still possible in the deep woods).

- Meandering the Farmer's Market slowly, savoring (no rushing). Bonus for tipping a busker or chatting with a friend or spending ages picking the right bouquet of flowers.

- Museums and finding my favorite piece of art.

- Browsing in a bookstore just because.

- Petting random dogs.

- Snowshoeing.

- Kitchen dance party to a great song.

- Sitting on the porch with coffee as the sun comes up, wrapped in a blanket.

- Sitting on a log and watching the sunset. Bonus for hot thermos of tea.

- Yoga - specifically, the part at the end where I do savasana, or the part where I close my eyes in the middle and fully inhabit my body without worrying about my body.

- Walking up to the Junction to do errands.

- Taking time for a full pedicure session - foot soak, scrub, polish.

- Movie night with Tessa, in pajamas, with tea, popcorn with real butter, blankets fresh from the wash, laughing at the jokes.

- Getting dressed up to go out. Taking time to choose the right outfit, jewelry, shoes, coat, handbag.

- Going on a run, music thumping, and then coming in the front door gasping and getting a huge drink of water.

- Going downtown to wander around.

- Spending time planning a vacation.

- Making things. Jewelry, a scarf, a painting, a poem, a garden, bread, cake, cookies...

- Walking barefoot on the beach

- Searching for seashells on the beach

- Reading under a shady tree in the summer

- Picnics! Fancy ones, simple ones. Color coordinated with all the things in the perfect basket, or takeout on the car blanket.

- Candles, vinyl, tea, journal

- Walking in the rain with an umbrella, cozy and dry

- Watching Chance careen around the dog park

- Board games

- Coloring a page (this is a quieter joy, good for days when life has made me weary - so calming)

- Making and eating a perfect salad - a home made dressing, a crumble of cheese, some protein, maybe some avocado...

- Resting in a hammock with a book

- Finishing a house project and then sitting back to enjoy it (I painted the living room a year ago and I'm just so glad... and I painted the porch and deck rails this year and they still make me happy).

- Wrapping a gift in pretty paper and sending or bringing it to a friend

- wandering in an art gallery

- Art walks (there's one every month in West Seattle)

- happy hour with a friend

- stand up paddle boarding

- riding on a ferry

- seal spotting (and sea lions, porpoises, and all other wildlife)

- Visit with a friend on my porch

- picking fresh strawberries from my garden

- Bubble bath (candles, soft music, book, cold glass of water)

- Reading poetry (Mary Oliver and Amanda Gorman are favorites, tucked under the coffee table for all the time access)

- Carrying a book with me everywhere and pulling it out instead of my phone (The New Yorker works for this purpose too)

- Making a friend a birthday cake and delivering it

- Stargazing

- Sunbathing on a lounge in the yard (or by a pool or on a beach, of course)

- Campfires, Alki bonfires

- Holding hands

- Sculpture Park

- The deck at Marination

- a long walk with Chance and a good podcast

- Reading a good book

- Sunday night big cook for the week ahead (so satisfying!)

Okay there's more but my headache is back and, well, it can't be all joy, and that's okay. I'm pleased with this - it's progress! See you again tomorrow for Nourish & Notice Day 2.

Therapy is hard.

 I first did therapy when I was diagnosed with cancer, 16 years ago, and I've done it on and off - mostly off - since then. 

But I'm determined to work through my garbage, because I'm tired of my old issues being the driving force in my life.

I got messages early in life that lasted well into my 40s that said if I wasn't perfect, I wasn't enough; those messengers said that if I didn't agree with them, I was wrong. Not just wrong - bad.

I was either good - compliant, agreeable, smiling, supportive, and absolutely without my own needs or desires if they were in the least bit of conflict with theirs. My time, interests, and ideas, needed to align. If I liked different food, I was mocked. If I liked different music, I was annoying and tasteless. If I liked different politics, I was an idiotic fool; if I had different dreams then I was a traitor to my family.

If I did what they wanted, I was good, and received approval, but I always knew that it wouldn't last, and that  in order for me to get that stamp of approval, I had to contort myself into a pretzel to get through my days, and it was exhausting, confusing, and ever so lonely.

I am estranged from those people now, and I doubt that I will ever be able to be in relationship with them again, because to do so hurts me and requires me to be someone I'm not. When the people who are supposed to love you best are those that hurt you and tell you that you are worthless, stupid, and shameful, well, there's nothing to be done but find a new way. I found that new way five years ago, and I'm proud of myself for having the courage to stand up, turn around, and face my future with truth and integrity. I'm not a pretzel anymore, and I no longer believe that my innate wishes and desires are bad, or that at my core, I'm bad.

But I've got work to do, anyway.

I am so far still from who I want to be, and the old messages still linger in my brain. Whenever I struggle, I hear them telling me that I'm bad, that I'm wrong, that I'll never amount to anything and "who do you think you are anyway" and "you think you're too good for us" and "persnickety".

So here I am, these old messages flaring up every time something goes in the least bit wrong, every time I have a smidgen of doubt about myself (all the time, for the record).

And I want to do better.

So back to therapy I go, dredging up old experiences and trying to understand how it is that I became the way I am, and how to let go of these ideas that do not serve me.

It's hard work. Remembering the things that have hurt me isn't a delightful experience... and I am doing it anyway. It's time to move past the old ways.

I know I can do better in my life, and I want to live with a heart at ease.

A heart that doesn't hurt too much to let a good man in.

So - therapy.

And it's hard.

Slogging and Joy

 I consider myself an incredibly optimistic person, but lately I am just slogging through my days.

Slogging at work.

Slogging at home.

Slogging through my dreams.

My energy levels are shockingly low, and I just feel worn out, no matter how much I try to rest. My body isn't helping: I can't remember the last time I slept through the night without awakening multiple times.

I have to keep reminding myself that it's temporary, that this too shall pass.

It helps to remember why I feel like this:

- Global pandemic (health risks, not traveling, not going to restaurants, theaters, etc.)

- Kid just left for college

- Single at 52, living alone (wait, this wasn't the plan!)

- thyroid issues (I get checked again next month)

- Back to school in a pandemic - the kids are needier than ever.

- Estrangement from parents and a recent particularly nasty interaction with my mother.

- Therapy. Oh, don't get me wrong: I'm a big believer in therapy, and I like my new therapist, but... it's hard. I'm facing The Big Stuff and it's exhausting.

So here I am, and it feels like every move is just slogging through the mud and slightly unbearable. Every step just feels a little heavier, and collectively, I just feel worn out.

But.

But I've been here before - the cancer years, the bad-marriage-then-divorce years. I made it to the other side then, and I will now, and the joy that comes after the storms is such a gift.

I'm trying to forgive myself for feeling so unenergetic, stuck, unmotivated, and sad. I'm trying to remind myself that this isn't because I'm a broken person, a terrible person, or an unworthy person. I'm feeling like this because things are legitimately hard right now.

I'm trying to remember that...

I'm good at my job and I'll find my way again.

I want Tessa to thrive in college, and for both of us to find a new way to co-exist.

When I'm ready, I'll go out there and find the right man to partner with, and appreciate the hell out of him (as he will me).

My estrangement from my family of origin is healthy. Agreeing to toxic behaviors isn't healthy, so even though I'm used to the dysfunctional way of being in the family, this is a much better choice for me, even if it hurts to not have family.

But today, I'm slogging, trying to remember the look of the sunrise, and the joys that are to come, trying to remember my energetic self and the life that awaits.

I guess I'll just slog my way through until the mud runs out, and then I'll walk on dry land again, change my clothes, and embrace the sunshine.

Soon, please.

Flying Solo

 A few weeks ago, my daughter and I got in the car - which I had packed with ten giant blue IKEA zipper bags full of bedding, clothes, shoes, and more, per the recommendations on Grown and Flown and Pinterest - and drove a couple of hours east... and I left her there.

This is the longest I've ever been apart from my girl, and I feel hollow and strange. We've done up to a week apart before, usually with lots of phone calls to check in, and I always knew at the end of the week she'd be back where she belonged, with me. But this time, she's where she belongs at college, and she'll never be home again in the way that she was before.

Now, she has two homes. My home will always be her place to land, and the room down the hall is still filled with her things, awaiting her return for holidays. But she and I both know that she has two homes now, and her growth and her future lies mostly in the other one at the moment.

This isn't a woe-is-me, I promise. I couldn't be happier for her, because she's out there trying to live her best life, trying to discover how to navigate when she's that much closer to adulthood. I am proud of her for finding her way, for being brave, for meeting new people and having a roommate for the first time (as an only child, I'm pretty sure this is a shock to her system!), for figuring out food cards and dorm rules and where her classes are on a campus, but she's ready. For whatever bumps she's experiencing, she's ready. She can do this.

And so can I - I hope.

Everyone talks about kids remaking themselves in college, and how much their parents miss them, but nothing prepared me entirely for the truly empty house I'm in. My canine companion might really be my best friend, because I feel really alone, despite the wonderful folks in my life.

No husband.

No family of origin.

None of Tessa's friends in and out all the time.

And a global pandemic that absolutely refuses to go away (and it feels like I'm the only one really worried about this winter - what if it's worse than last winter, despite the vaccinations?!). I'm being careful (it turns out that was a good idea - because I had Pfizer, and after 4 months it's at half effectiveness for preventing disease, and I'm with 150 kids a day at school in my crowded classroom).

So here I am, more solo than I've ever been. I'm of two minds about this: time to write! to be a superstar at work! to exercise more and more! to take classes! to visit art museums! to hike! to cook! to do house projects!

...and curl up in a ball, possibly in front of the television, and not get up.

Honestly, the jury's out.

What I did decide to do was start therapy again.

Mostly, I want to work out my family of origin stuff. When my mother was hospitalized recently I reached out to her, and as soon as we spoke, I regretted it. She brought up everything I've done to offend her in the past 20 or so years (we thought she could be on her deathbed, and she wanted to re-hash that I had not invited her to attend Tessa's birth... sigh). She said, "At least when I die, I guess I'll know you reached out once" (in a sad, dramatic, sighing voice) and when I pointed out that I've contacted her regularly - most recently to send a graduation announcement - she had no reply. She acted like it was confusing why we're estranged. I said "the door has always been open to see you again" and when she acted surprised I said, "All you and Dad need to do is agree to no name calling, belittling or yelling" and she said - in a surprisingly snotty voice, "OH! So you have BOUNDARIES now!" and did not agree to those boundaries and changed the subject.

I think of all of it, that last one was the toughest for me. I have the no-yelling-belittling-name-calling rule for EVERYONE I meet. Cashiers. Waiters. Passer by. Students. Friends. Strangers. Everyone. I feel like it's the absolute lowest bar in the world, but in my family it's simply too much, and for me to express a boundary is unacceptable, even when it's a lowest-of-the-low boundary.

So here I am. 52, solo, in therapy.

I am determined to get to the good stuff. The good stuff looks like an active life, close connections, meaning, and love. Romantic love, too. But I know I have to deal with my "stuff" before I'll be ready for that.

Sigh.

I think my first big leap now is to figure this out. Therapy. Journaling, Determination. Asking hard questions.

And then maybe the good stuff?