The soft pat of sneakers on the blacktop played across the breeze. The heavy-laden grey sky felt like the lid of a closed container. The morning air was cool and quiet. I nearly stopped mid-stride outside of the east-town Wal-Mart struck by the music of the moment. I shook my head and launched back into my shopping trip. I still had cooking, cleaning, unpacking, phone calls, and errands on the to-do list.
In the last two weeks, I have moved states and traveled back for Thanksgiving. The days seem to rush by in fits and bursts. I still don’t feel like I have caught up or recuperated. I’m tired.
While driving home, my kiddos were in the back seat, and we listened to an audiobook. Off and on throughout the book tears welled up in my eyes. It was not a particularly moving book, sometimes the parts were completely mundane, and others were humorous, or poignant. The emotions did not always seem directly connected with the narrative.
During the family Thanksgiving, there were entirely innocuous moments when I would be suddenly so annoyed or irritated, I felt full of anger and wanted to lash out. Sometimes I simply felt exhausted and ready to go home. Then again, at times I just wanted more time spent with my family, quality time.
Since moving back to Tennessee, I have found it even more difficult to be away from my kids. I see them twice as much and struggle twice as hard when they aren’t here. At times, I have found myself just staring at them while they play a game or eat their food and smiling. When they aren’t here it feels like my heart is somewhere else and I am living on the memory of a heartbeat.
My new electric percolator is supposed to be here by Wednesday. I find myself getting excited about its arrival and the opportunity to make a rich cup of hot coffee.
These past couple of weeks have taken the resilience I’ve built up or the past year and nearly drained it dry. My emotions are a wreck, my thinking feels slow, and I am twitching with greater frequency. I have a list of things to do and all I want to do is hold my kids and sleep.
The house is coming together, slowly but surely. In my living room right now are two laundry baskets, not full, but not empty either. Two boxes left to be unpacked. A desk that needs to be unpacked and organized and a pile of boxes to be thrown out.
Right now, however, I make time to write, and I can smile.
Each day I have packed my kid’s lunch I have included a note and a special surprise. Today’s item was a single Pokémon card from a small booster pack. Tomorrow’s will be a pair of Christmas theme erasers, one for them and one to share with a friend. Last week my son told me that his friends have started to gather around him as he opens his lunch box to see what he gets.
I glance at the staircase and the pictures of my smiling kiddos beside their little footprints. In this beautiful silence, I can breathe. I remember that my kids are the reason I am here. When dark thoughts of self-harm threaten to rear its head, my kids anchor me here.
Sometimes life feels hard. Stress seems to rip at my skin and drive me crazy. My brain just starts to buzz and the pressure makes me feel like I am going to explode. However, when I let myself reflect quietly things change. Purpose and perspective come into focus. Joy and balance begin to return.
Writing is one of the key ways I make time for quiet reflection. I have missed it over the past two weeks of chaotic activity and stress. It helps me to process, slow down, and to be more aware of how I am feeling and what I am experiencing in the moment.
Escapism like shows, games, music, and social media can be a survival skill designed to help us cope with and power through stressful times and circumstances. They do not, however, help us thrive. Thriving requires the ability to think, to be grounded in the moment, and to process what you have going on. Thriving comes with perspective and balance.
Thriving is hearing soft footfalls outside of a Walmart at 8 in the morning and allowing yourself to enjoy and appreciate the subtle music of the “everyday” for a few moments instead of rushing headlong into your next thing to do.
What do you do to help you move from surviving to thriving? How do you remain grounded and balanced? What helps you to process, appreciate, and practice self-care?
Z Notables 