Just Trying To Get Through This
Anyone else been flailing around in a storm of overwhelm?
For me, it began with a stomach bug on our way home from a big family trip abroad.
Then my husband Micah caught it.
Our kids started school four days later, with no school supplies because we’d had no time to buy them.
Afterschool activities, backlogged appointments, and unpaid bills immediately clogged the calendar.
Jet lag still plagued me, weeks after our return.
I’ve been doubting my decision to try life without caffeine as I dragged through the days, while also contending with erratic perimenopausal hormones and autoimmune fatigue.
Friends are grappling with hard diagnoses.
Micah returned to work and learned that a family in his community lost their young son.
Stories of heartbreak continue unfolding: genocide and gun violence in the news, deportation and eviction in our community.
Everything’s been a struggle–getting out of bed, helping the kids get ready for school, completing basic work tasks, making meals, just showing up day after day.
I keep asking myself:
How will I get through this?
You Choose How to Meet the Moment
I have been invited to many rallies and protests this year.
I have attended zero.
Several years ago, I did things very differently.
I joined a public action at least every few weeks, often with my baby and toddler in tow.
I regularly pulsed with fear and outrage.
I believed that putting my (white and privileged) body in the streets was the most valuable way to show how much I cared.
Learning To Practice Anywhere
I’ve spent a lot of time stretching in airports and train stations recently.
It started in Chicago, just a few minutes before I boarded my flight to Paris. I knew that if my body would be confined to a cramped sitting position with very limited mobility for close to eight hours, it was calling for spaciousness and fluidity while it could get it.
I decided to do some of my somatic practices right there at the crowded gate.
Look for the Magic
By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be on an airplane. I might already be in Paris.
It’s my first trip abroad in almost eight years, and my first solo international trip since I lived in Spain, and traveled through the Iberian Peninsula and the UK, in my mid-twenties.
So you could say it’s been a while.
Back in December, my friend Diana, a former colleague and retired English department chair, proposed the idea of visiting her in Bordeaux. I was intrigued, but mostly hesitant.