Ten minutes each

In which I spent small amounts of time (ten minutes, or longer if the inspired) writing whatever came to mind.

March 31: It’s been, as they say and, as nearly always is the case, a long winter. Today, March 31, was bleak and windy, but nearly 60 degrees, and this morning Aidy and I spotted a blue jay so bright it seemed almost dangerous; too flashy for its own good. I don’t know if that’s a sign of spring - an extra bright blue jay - but when you’re looking for them (the signs) they manifest easily. Nonsensically. We vacuumed out the minivan and that was a sign of spring. We ate dinner outside with friends, bundled in our winter coats, uncomfortable but happy, and that was too.

April 11: Today, plagued by the sense that I haven’t been writing as much as I should (as in denying the deepest creative impulses of my very soul…as in neglecting the most fundamental quality of my very self…), I decided to look up writing retreats, workshops and teachers, under the impression that some time away, some tutoring or some camaraderie might reignite the practice better than the simple act of, you know, just doing the thing on a more regular basis. I learned that I could pay $1,500 for meals, lodging, a fireplace and instruction in a wooded retreat center, or opt-in to weekly sessions at a local book shop geared to get words on the page and facetime with a trusted circle of likeminded writer types. And, the thing is, that these and all the rest - cabins with a mixed bag of artists! ( which actually might be a little bit like torture) and practical sessions on how to generate better blog content! - actually do sound worth it. I’m happy that there are tools to employ should I have the time and openheartedness required to jump in. But then I set the timer for ten minutes and was able to write with the aid of nothing more than a cup of black tea. I didn’t even take the teabag out; it is floating in my cup still, creating an increasingly bitter product and whispering a reminder: the process can go any damn way you want.

May 4: The other day I realized that I hadn’t watched the news - in a purposeful way, besides in passing - in a long time. Weeks. I realized this while lying in bed reading a book (“Small Things Like These”) that my mom gave me, told me I absolutely “have to read it” - as she so often does, and she’s always right - and then, you know, I didn’t. Reading was something that, until recent weeks, I also hadn’t done in a long time…not in a purposeful way, only in passing. Snippets here and there, struggling to finish my book, with the rare page-turner thrown into the mix, but it had to be a real page-turner (easy, suspenseful) for me to engage in anything more than a few pages (or even a paragraph!) at a time.

The realization about the news caused me to think for a few minutes about why, and the answers came easily: post-apocalyptic-politics, post-COVID (although it’s never “post-COVID”) wall-to-wall coverage binging had been my norm, and perhaps I was subconsciously taking the spring of 2022 as a needed vacation from knowing all the details all the time.

I gave social media up for Lent and that, too, allowed for a deeper concentration, something I hadn’t really offered myself the chance to explore, what with the constant interruptions of modern life. You can’t opt out of all of them, but you can opt out of some. And some, it seems, was enough for me to pick up a few of the “you have to read this” books on my bedside table and once again enjoy my most long-standing hobby, not in stolen moments, but in now available ones.

This week, obviously, threw me back into my aggressive news consumption mode, but I watched all the hot takes from bed this morning with my book laying face down on the blanket, open to where I’d stopped, right there within reach when I was ready to resume.

Things I like: the world is spinning out of control edition

When I started writing this post, which was awhile back in January, it felt like the world was spinning out of control. It doesn’t anymore. But at that point, I felt more stressed on a personal level than I have at any point during this pandemic. It was triggered, I think, by not knowing the right thing to do, and having no idea how the situation would turn out, which are my least favorite things.

When Gabe tested positive for coronavirus, I wasn’t worried about how sick he’d get - he seemed fine - but I had a lot of questions about how to return to normal life (aka “normal life”).

I ruminated on many unhelpful thoughts and asked myself many unanswerable questions, including: It’s been several days and the rest of us have continued to test negative, which is confusing because I figured we all would get it. What if Aidy gets infected by Gabe (since we aren’t isolating him in any capacity) but she doesn’t get infected until day 5 of his infection, and then she doesn’t exhibit symptoms until 5 days after that? And then she infects the entire neighborhood? Not probable, but what if? Should I send the girls back to school? Is it wrong to keep them home from school when vaccinated children don’t have to quarantine anymore? Or am I being extra cautious? OR am I being extra RECKLESS by having my unaffected children quarantine with my infected one?

I know: ridiculous. But the beginning of 2022 felt particularly like a throw-your-hands-up-in-the-air and yell some expletives moment to me. Like a rather fraught time. Like I was doing everything wrong, or maybe right, but - bottom line - it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t force things to turn out one way or the other.

The world feels much better now: as a whole, and in my head. I feel decidedly more confident, in control and able to plan.

I decided to leave the title, though, because all our worlds…they tend to get that way from time to time!

And in times like this, I have learned to learn hard into some habits; some meaningful challenges and pure joys to help me navigate the sea of uncertainty. Because the best remedy for a total lack of control, I’ve found, is focusing on the things you can. Here are some of my recent favorite things, that help me feel better.

1. Over New Year’s, my friend Preet gave me ingredients to make homemade chai - Ajwan seeds, cardamom, fennel and loose black tea - as well as provided instructions on how to make it, which includes boiling all of the above and adding milk (of any kind) and sugar as desired. It only takes a few more minutes than making regular tea and is so much more enjoyable and involved. Like a little afternoon project to settle the mind and renew the spirit, and one that, as a bonus, yields a delicious pick-me-up. It’s funny how the cure for feeling rushed, frantic or overwhelmed is often taking a few moments back to do something for yourself, and that this is - ironically - especially true and most crucial when you feel you have the least time to take.

2. Meditating. Actually, though. When I started this post, I had been meditating using the Ten Percent Happier app, and was doing a challenge they’d launched called “Getting Unstuck,” which I loved and was, perhaps, the first time I’d really stuck with the practice, and could feel true results. Now I’m doing one with some colleagues at work called the “Real Happiness” challenge through meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg, and it is wonderful, too. I’ve tried meditating on and off for a couple years, and, while I realize it hasn’t been that long of a stretch, this is probably my longest. I was most swayed after reading the book, “Wherever You Go, There You Are,” by Jon Kabat-Zinn which was a total game-changer. Just the process of reading the book made me feel more relaxed, more grounded. Anyway, I’ve tried meditating with and without guidance, and, while both resonate, I do like a voice to help me along the way; and I can see why people claim it changes everything. The problem in the past has been that I don’t do it as often as I’d like. Doing a challenge helps. Sometimes meditating feels incredibly hard. Sometimes I feel more peaceful than I have all day. Sometimes I cry. And I always feel curious, a heightened sense of wonder and much more equipped to take on the day.

3. The promise of travel. We have a trip to Mexico coming up. There is a lot I could say about the various challenges presented by such a trip during such a time, but what I want to impart instead is that they feel well worth the deep joy I’ve experienced in the planning alone. The promise of sun. The excitement that my children will see another part of the great, big world. The reminder that there is a great, big world out there at all.

4. Television you can get lost in and inspired by which, for us, has recently included: Season 6 of “Queer Eye,” “Mare of Easttown” and “Rick Steves’ Europe” on PBS whenever we happen to catch it.

5. The brisk and sometimes harsh, but always great outdoors. As I mentioned in my last post, I participated in the “Winter Warrior Challenge” last month (another challenge!) which is a Connecticut-based program. Participants pledge to walk or run one mile outside every day in January. There are clearly individuals who sign up to win, racking up the most miles possible, and I am very clearly not one of those. Most of my miles-or-more were ambling dog walks, which the dog, obviously, very much enjoyed, and some of them were painful, with many sub-freezing days this winter. Although I didn’t always welcome leaving the warmth of home to trudge through whatever weather awaited me - often in the dark after dinner when I realized I’d forgotten to do my mile - I always felt “reset” after. And while running in winter is not my favorite, I could tell Maisie was missing our daily outings once February rolled around and I declared myself “super done with that challenge.” So, today, I put on my running shoes and we headed out for three miles, at first bracing, then just fine. There’s something calming about the cold; how it roughs you up a little and relents as your body eases into it, and I love that we’ve all become intrepid winter warriors these past two years. When it’s all feeling like a bit too much, the frigid air clears the mind. And makes home, whatever awaits, a welcome refuge.