In my meditation today, I was reminded that when my mind wanders, I can begin again. Focus on the breath. Begin again.
We can always begin again.
Today is a good day to think about that.
What could we do?
It starts with story. We must know our own story.
We must tell the truth about what happened to us.
We could understand that we are all in this together, that the success of one is the success of all, and not just for humans.
We could devote ourselves to an ethics of care and compassion, to kindness to self and others, knowing that others are connected to us, and we to them, in profound ways.
We could be humble and acknowledge what we have broken and our own brokenness. We could grieve for what we have lost, because we know that we have lost so much. We are not even sure what it is. But we know. We feel it. It exists as a hollowness in our soul that no amount of food or alcohol or consumer goods or anything else can fill.
We could help each other through the grief.
We could repair what is broken. We could make it our work.
We are ALL in this together: the humans, the trees, the plants, the insects, the air, the animals, the soil, the water, and even the rocks. Even the rocks.
We could build an economy that knows that the earth is not merely a resource for humans to use (up), but a part of us as we are a part of it. The earth’s health is our health. It gives and gives and we, the humans, must stop taking so much.
We could remove the barriers to sharing what we do take.
We could build an economy that acknowledges limits.
It could be beautiful.
Think of what you would begin again, if you could, and know that you can.
These are dark days. The shortest day of the pandemic feels like the longest.
My sister came over to drop off gifts on the porch and she could not stop crying. She was crying when she arrived, cried through her five minute stop and was crying when she left. My daughter visited on a layover as she travelled across the country to do her shift at the mine. We went for a walk in the damp and cold, stayed outside until we were too cold to be outside anymore, and then she was off again to continue her journey to her work site. Instead of lamenting that I could not hug either of them, or even get close to them, or see their faces through their masks, I tried hard to be grateful I got to see them at all. And I am. But at the end of the day, I cried too.
This pandemic. It’s hard. It’s a good time for crying. The tears keep coming.
Gratitude? In 2020? This year of disruption and staggering losses? Yes.
The Humber River, Toronto, a view from one of my regular walks that inspires gratitude.
I’m grateful:
1. For Clarity. My vision is 20/20. I know what matters. People. Community. Love. And the earth which supports it all. And I know what doesn’t matter. Whether my hair is cut. Things. Productivity and other cudgels of capitalism. Just as I was wondering if humanity is doomed, I got to witness how we can change our collective priorities quickly.
2. For People. I am grateful for family, thick and thin friends, the kindness of strangers, neighbours, delivery people, doctors, nurses, teachers…everyone. I am grateful for the enthusiasms of my community and the skills and talents they have shared throughout the year.
3. For Slowness. I have a brain injury, and I have required a slower pace since 2016. In the before-time, I fought this need. I thought it was something I had to change. I thought that regaining my old pace was a goal and would be a mark of my recovery. Not anymore. I have learned to embrace my slow pace. It’s a relief. In part, I have been able to do this because everyone else had to slow down too.
4. For Solitude. I miss my people. (See 2.) But. (See 3.) I can do things AND be alone. While others complain about life on Zoom, for me (and many other people with disabilities) Zoom means accessibility. I can participate while not having to negotiate so many other things. I can lower the volume, focus on a single speaker, dim the brightness. Sure, real life is better. But having something is better than nothing, and I am grateful for everything I have been able to participate in because of Zoom. I can only hope that when this is over, the avenues of access that have opened so the able-bodied and neurotypical can carry on will remain open for the rest of us. Will every literary festival make on-line access possible? Will readings still be on line? Will I be able to listen to a concert on line or see a show? I hope so.
5. For Breath. Breath is life. The virus makes breathing a struggle and even takes it away. There has been so much death. I have struggled for breath before. I don’t take it for granted. A quarter century of meditation practice has blossomed in this time. Whatever is happening in me and around me, I am here, breathing. When anxiety or worry threaten to overwhelm, I know that some seed of me, some essence of me, is fine. I am breathing. I am fine.
6. For Conservation. Or whatever the opposite of consumerism is. I am grateful for getting by with what I have. For making do. For repairing things. It is a better way to live. I will never go back.
7. For Health. This is more than being grateful I have been spared this terrible virus to date. With life so much smaller, I have tended to my health, my total health, in a more focussed way. I have established a new fitness routine. I walk more. I pay attention to what my body and mind need. I am more focussed on health and wellness than ever before.
8. For Support. Whether you call it cooperation, mutual aid, friendship, or neighbourliness, I have been nourished by it this year.
9. For Gratitude. Yes, I am grateful for gratitude. When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I reach for it. It brings me into the present and changes my perspective.
Like you, I’m hoping 2021 is better. But 2020 taught me important lessons. I don’t want to forget them.
Not to be all “Game of Thrones” or anything, but winter really is coming. It is unlikely there will be dragons, but if 2020 has taught us anything, there will be SOMETHING. I’m hoping it won’t be another four years of the orange menace, and certainly not another four years of the pandemic. I’m weary of them both. Weary and wary. Wary of my weariness. Weary of my wariness. I’d like to go through 24 hours without thinking something is out to do us all in.
Do you have a plan to get through the winter? Something you are doing to help you find joy? I do and I’m sharing. Maybe it will give you ideas.
I’m being rigid about my schedule. It’s not a fancy schedule and includes blocks of time for exercise, work, and food prep. Yes, food prep. We’ve got to keep our strength up and eat well. And delicious food is still something that brings me joy, even if I have to make it myself (which also explains the exercise block.) If I keep my activities in specific blocks, I keep some variety in my day. I can’t work all the time anymore like I used to, (brain injury) and that’s a good thing. But I think a lot of people newly working from home are reporting that they work ALL THE TIME. Let yourself stop and move on to something else.
I get up early and go to bed early.
I meditate every day. I’ve been meditating for decades, but never with this much dedication. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.
I have stopped drinking alcohol. I actually stopped a long time ago, (brain injury), but I think it is worth mentioning. It’s a depressant. I miss it sometimes, but I have more joy without it. Sometimes, I take a sip of my husband’s drink if it is a really nice smelling wine or a good bourbon. Just a sip. Although it was hard while there were still opportunities for social interaction, it’s not hard now. If you’ve been thinking about it, maybe this is a good time to experiment. Maybe it will bring you joy.
I have cleaned my closet, sock drawer, etc., and edited out worn, horrible or ill-fitting clothes. Again, they are a depressant, at least to me. If I can’t wear that thing I used to slob around in on the rare days I slobbed around, I won’t wear it. I have to choose something better, and I feel better.
I go for a walk every day. My longest regular walk is about 8.5 km and my shortest is to the store and back (about 15 minutes). No matter what, I get outside. I think about what I’m seeing. I look for beauty. A bird, the changing leaves, someone in a nice coat. It’s there. Pay attention.
I try to be helpful to others. I check in with people who are alone. I drop baking off with a neighbour. I write cards and send them to people. This is one of my favourites. It involves several enjoyable steps. a) I have to order cards from a stationery store. I love stationery stores, even on line. My favourite is The Regional Assembly of Text in East Vancouver. I have one closer to me that I really like too, called Take Note, in the Junction. Since I don’t physically go to many stores anymore, it doesn’t matter where a store is. But I try to buy from independent retailers. b) I have to go through my address book and think about everyone and who I haven’t been in contact with lately. c) I have to compose something lively and smart. (It’s a goal, anyway.) It makes me feel better and I love thinking of them receiving the card in the mail, opening it and laughing. d) I have to walk to the post box. (see 6.)
I have projects unrelated to work. For example, early in the pandemic, I dug up everything I have related to knitting. I found half finished mittens, a sweater I started in 1996, and more wool than I imagined I had. So I’m knitting. I’m thinking about breaking into crochet. I have an idea of taking a beautiful landscape photograph, using the app “Bricks” to pixelate it, (Bricks makes everything look like it is made out of Lego) and creating a colour blocked pattern so I can crochet one small square at a time and not get overwhelmed. Then I could put it together like a quilt. If that half a sweater I dug up is any indication, I might finish it by 2040. Crazy as it seems, looking ahead on a project like that makes me feel better. There is a future.
I haven’t given up on getting better from my brain injury. While I think I’ve run my course with what professionals can do to help me, they say time heals. And I have time, all the gods and goddesses willing, and I notice small, incremental improvements, especially in my balance (see #1 and exercise). And these improvements bring me joy. Is there something you can work on improving in your life?
I limit my intake of news and social media. It’s too much. But at least weekly, I take positive action on a change I want to see in the world. I write a politician, I sign a petition, I learn more about a problem that seems insurmountable, not from the news but from a longform article or book or documentary, and I find reasons for hope and learn about other actions I can take.
Happy Winter! It’s going to be ok. This does not have to be the winter of our discontent. We’ll get through this.
I was nine years old when “I Am Woman” came out and the people around me mocked it. The song was not celebratory or empowering; it was embarrassing. My parents turned it off when it came on the radio. People said mean things about Helen Reddy and attacked her appearance.
This is what I remember. So, being nine, I learned the lesson. Don’t roar. You are not strong. Better not to be noticed than to be mocked. Fade into the background. And I did. For a long time.
The fact that I ended up a feminist, a teacher of women’s studies and an abortion rights advocate on the local and sometimes national stage for twenty five years is an absolute wonder to me when I think about the way I was raised. And when I think about my resistance to Helen Reddy. Sure, it was always a cheesy song. But these kinds of anthems often are. I was probably in my 30s or 40s the first time I actually sang along to it at a rally. Somehow, I knew all the words. They had made their way into me. They were always there.
What does this teach me? First of all, the power of bullying and mockery is intense. There’s a reason why people do it. There are a lot of kids growing up in Tr*mp’s era (and the years leading up to it that enabled this kind of shitshow) who have been silenced. They have had their natural inclination toward fairness and justice squelched. Those poor kids.
It might take them decades to find their way back, and the only way they will is if they find examples, over and over and over, to counter the baloney they are being fed. Be those voices. Talk about justice and social responsibility and kindness and the importance of holding each other up. Talk about healing wounds—in people, in the environment, in our relationships to each other and the world.
Secondly, these initial wounds CAN be overcome. I overcame them, and did it with very few teachers. Very few. I can count on one hand who lifted me out of the misogyny and racism that I learned as a child. And I am so grateful to them. And then I was resourced. I had a brilliant liberal arts education at some of the top universities in the country. I was granted scholarships so I could go, the first in my family to earn a degree. These scholarships were funded by people who knew the importance of education, of specifically an arts education, to open minds. They helped me, these strangers.
And I was held up and helped by my community, especially, (of all the places to note) in Calgary. I met good feminists in Alberta—too many to name. The kind of women that Helen Reddy sang about. It’s where I did most of my teaching. It’s also where I was subjected to the same kind of mockery and bullying that I experienced when I was nine. I wasn’t always successful in the way I handled it, but I wasn’t a child anymore. And this time I had help.
Now when I hear, “Yes, I am wise, but it’s wisdom born from pain. Yes, I’ve paid the price, but look how much I’ve gained. If I have to, I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible,” I don’t feel embarrassed by the cheesiness of the song. I feel grateful. Thanks for the anthem, Ms. Reddy, and thanks to all the women along the way who gave it meaning for me.
Pretend. Pretend you are a person who can manage some part of the day ahead. Just pretend.
Pick something small that you want to do. Anything. If you don’t know what you want to do, make figuring that out your task. Maybe you’d like to get a library card or replace the broken button on your favourite shirt. Sometimes you don’t want to do something, but you want the outcome you would get if you did it. Maybe the dirty dishes in the kitchen are making you sad. You don’t want to do the dishes, but you do want to have a clean counter. Maybe start small. Empty the sink and stack the bowls. Fill the sink with water and soap and wash only the bowls. Then you can have some cereal in a clean bowl. Yay! Celebrate the cereal. The rest can wait. Or maybe the cereal helps, and you can move on to the mugs.
Don’t worry about whether the thing you choose to do is the most important thing to do. You’ll get to those things. (Really, you will.) Do the thing.
Treat yourself. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Don’t make it dependent on success unless that works for you. You might want to watch the first season of Community for the tenth time. You can say, After I do the thing I need to do, I can watch one episode. Or you can say, Watch an episode because laughing will cheer me up and help motivate me. Do what is right for you. Make room for joy.
When you wake up, let yourself think. Think about something you are grateful for. One thing. Name it to yourself. Say it out loud. Say, I am grateful for cereal. I am grateful for a new day. I am grateful I am breathing.
If you can get out of bed, make your bed. Making your bed is a gift your present self gives to your future self. Some day soon, you will have the energy to do the laundry. For now, just make the bed. If you have never made a bed, watch a YouTube video about it. Look at your made bed and feel satisfied.
If you have a lot of things you have to do and they fill your head, try to pick one at a time. You can’t do everything at once. No one can. Your success in dealing with one thing or part of one thing will prove your competence to yourself and it will help you get to another task. Say, I can do that, and do it. Eventually, you will make a plan. Remember, a plan is just a plan. It can change. You can change it if it isn’t working or is unrealistic. Evaluate the plan regularly and change what needs to be changed. Don’t let the plan sabotage you. The plan is supposed to help you.
Some days everything is challenging. That’s OK. You know what you have to do and there’s no getting out of those things. Work. Caring for loved ones. Do what you can do. Somethings can wait though. If you have 100 emails waiting, respond to 1. That is a start. Give yourself a pat on the back. There’s probably some that don’t need a response at all. Scan through them. Delete. Unsubscribe. Maybe it is hard for you to get out of bed, hard to walk, or get up the stairs. Try a few steps, one or two stairs. If you keep at it, some day you might be able to walk around the block, one step at a time. It might be reading a page. It might be writing a page. Go one word or one sentence at a time. Sound it out. Choose the thing. Do it. Revel in your success. Say to yourself, Look! I did that. Rest.
Save your strength. Don’t use it all up on something that is too much for you right now. Be kind to yourself. Learn to say no, or at least, not right now.
Do one thing to make your environment more calm. Maybe turn the TV off. Stay calm for the things you have to do. Stay calm so you can think.
Focus on something natural. A tree outside. A bird. Your child’s beautiful curly hair. Something growing in the cracks of the pavement. See the beauty in it. Think about one way that you are growing too.
Drink a glass of water. Enjoy it. Say to yourself, That was really good.
Intertwine your fingers, face your palms out and raise them above your head if that’s something you can do and stretch. Stretch something. Anything. Enjoy the feeling of your body moving, whatever part of it can move.
Take a deep breath. Feel the air entering and leaving your lungs. Know that your body is good at change. It changes with every breath. Know that you are alive and breathing, and changing all the time.
Forget everything negative you ever believed about yourself. Try to learn about yourself again. What are you good at? What would you like to get better at? Don’t worry about what you used to be good at and lost. That was another person in another time. Focus on the here and now.
Build on success. Pick another task. Don’t think it has to be bigger. Just do another thing. For example, maybe you have to apply for something. Maybe you need to get a divorce. (I’m sorry you have to get a divorce.) You’ve put it off forever because you dread it. But it has to be done. Maybe the first task is to find a form on line or a contact on line. That’s good enough. Bookmark it or jot it down. Congratulate yourself. Take a break for an hour or until the next day before you try to fill out that form or connect with that contact. If you run into a problem, take a minute to rest and think about what you need to do the next part. Maybe that is a tomorrow task. Put it on a list. Congratulate yourself for making a list.
Keep a list. Cross things off. Give yourself a high five when you cross something off. Have a glass of water again.
Help someone. Whoever you are, whatever your problem is, you can do something kind for someone else. If you’re stuck inside, be nice to someone online. Answer a question for them. Tell them they are doing well. If you’ve made it to the market, you can leave something on a neighbour’s doorstep. There are millions of ways to be kind. Being kind builds you up. Congratulate yourself. Do a little dance in your chair. Say, That was a good thing to do and it made me feel better. Don’t wait for a thank you. It might come and it might not. Either way, you’ve done something kind. Keep it to yourself. Treasure that little kindness. Let it build you up.
Go to bed when you are tired. Think about the thing(s) you accomplished. You stayed alive. You breathed in and out. Good for you.
