Counting

 Ever think about all the ways to say “lots”?

Innumerable

Many

Numerous

Multiple

Several

Extensive

How do you feel?

Grief feels like

• having barely enough energy to move the suitcase from the entry to the bedroom
• filling and refilling the sink with hot water three times and still not doing the dishes
• getting up, having breakfast, and going back to bed
• struggling to find something that you want to eat
• trying not to throw up after you eat
• looking around at all that needs to be done....and lying down on the couch
• imagining the effort required to go down 2 flights of stairs, walk to the garage, open the trunk, and carry back up boxes...and lying down on the couch
• feeling like every physical movement requires great effort
• having a brain that can't focus on anything for more than 10 minutes
• watching the emails pile up....and lying down on the couch

Like a park

The house where I grew up sat on about 3 acres of land on a dead end road.  About 1/3 of the property was "lawn," the rest occupied a hill and swamp leading up to a small river as the northern edge of the property line.  As kids, we did spend some time playing in the swamp and river, but mosquitoes and stinging nettle made that a largely unattractive area. At least for me.

Since many of our family friends lived in more suburban, or even urban, areas, our house became the location for numerous Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day family barbecues.  We had plenty of room to spread out and since there already was a passel of kids living there, a few more didn't make much difference. I remember some of the mothers commenting about how it was "just like living in a park."  I didn't really get it.  It was a yard, not an unusually big one by the neighborhood standards.  There were trees and bushes, some weeds, a few flower beds and a sometimes vegetable garden, but it seemed like a pretty ordinary spot to me.

Throughout my life, with the exception of time in college and a few stints in rental housing, I've lived in a semi-rural area.  I have always had an acre or so of land surrounding my house. It was what I was used to.  For the last six years, I've lived in the city.  Some would argue that my neighborhood of a mix of single family and small condominium units doesn't really count as "the city," but it is definitely urban.  I hear the L train rumble by a few blocks away, nightly I hear sirens and my neighbor snoring.  My stamp sized lawn hardly requires mowing. I am enjoying city life.  I love being able to walk to stores and movie theaters, to use public transportation (okay, that may be changing in the current times), taking advantage of all the shows, plays, concerts, and restaurants.

But, lately I've spent some quiet days back at the "old homestead."  I must admit that there is a peacefulness and serenity there that I miss.  You can sit and hear the birds and watch the shadows move across the lawn.  The other day a wild turkey almost walked right up to me and deer don't even startle when you open a door. I appreciate now what those mothers of 50 years ago saw.  It is like living in a park.  I guess it takes a bit of perspective for me to truly appreciate what I had.

Everybody touch somebody

The other day I was listening to one of my favorite radio shows and podcasts, This American Life. It was a "rerun" of an early show and featured stories about sports, something that isn't happening live right now.  One story dealt with a high school football team in Mississippi (Alabama?) after Hurricane Katrina.  Despite the devastation, lack of a full squad, and homelessness, the high school team rallied to play a game against their rivals. 



I'm not an athlete, I've never played competitively on any sport team.  On occasion I've been involved in co-ed or intramural sports, and I have served as a guest "faculty coach" for teams at colleges where I've worked and been part of the pre-game locker room rituals.  All teams seem to have the tradition of a "huddle" where the players gather tightly together and chant before heading to the field.  I've heard coaches and team captains call this maneuver by variously saying "huddle up" or "bring it in" or "all together now."  However, this high school coach said, "everybody touch somebody."  The phrase was repeated a few times throughout the radio episode and each time it struck me as particularly poignant.  Even though I couldn't see the team, I knew they were huddling.  But "everybody touch somebody" feels more intimate, more personal.  And such a good mantra for life outside of sports. 

Everybody touch somebody.

Virtual Commencement

Graduation day is probably the highlight of the year for me.  I love meeting the families and friends of our graduates and sharing in their pride.  Our graduates are happy, everyone is a little nervous, and the energy in the room is palpable.

This year we couldn't hold an in-person ceremony, but instead taped congratulatory remarks and student speeches that were streamed today. In some ways it was even more intimate, since the speaker seemed to be speaking directly to you.

After watching the ceremonies for my departments, I sent emails to those graduating students I had advised or had in class.  I wanted to try to extend the personal touch that I would have been able to deliver in person.  I had not expected what I would get in return.....

"Thank you very much! I really appreciate that you are reaching out to me.
I really appreciate everything you have done for me as an advisor! Thank you for everything. I hope you have a great summer!"

"Thank you very much! I hope you are doing well. Sorry I couldn't see you in person. Thank you for everything you have done for Lewis College and for an enjoyable LCHS 100 class. That class was kind of the point where I really felt I could make something out of myself as a Global Studies major. Once again, thank you for everything!"

"Saw the ceremony, thank you! I wouldn’t be here without your support as well as IIT in general. Thanks again, hope to see you again one day!"

"I feel so honored to have received this personal congratulatory message from you.  Yes I heard your wonderful message and I am proud to be getting my degree from the Lewis College of Human Sciences’ Psychology Department!
I hope to see you soon.  Thank  you again, for all of your kindness and well-wishes."

I'm okay

Here we are in the midst of a global pandemic, and....I'm okay.  Is that wrong?

I realize how privileged and fortunate I am. I have a stable job, good income, and substantial savings. I have a safe home, good food, and toilet paper. My immediate family has not been affected by the virus and, for the most part, are in similar circumstances.  I wear a mask when I'm out, wash my hands frequently, wipe down surfaces in my home, car, and other places I visit. I'm in good health. I go out only for essential trips. I don't have a young child at home that needs attention.  I am not a naturally anxious person.  I keep on top of the news, but I don't watch or read it obsessively.

I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing my colleagues at work and professional conferences. I miss running out to Target for no particular reason. I miss walking along the lake shore.

I worry about the health of my 90 year old father. I worry about the health of my 18 month old grandson. I don't want anyone to get sick.

I am angered by the confusion, miscommunication, and lack of foresight in preparing for this event. I am saddened by the, not new, realization that this disease, like so many others, affects those parts of our population with the fewest resource--people of color, people living in institutional settings, people living in poverty.

I am awed by the heroics of the medical personnel, and also the store clerks, maintenance workers, bus drivers, and others who continue to do their jobs in incredibly difficult circumstances.

But, I'm okay.  And I feel a little guilty about that.

Resilience

Resilience has become a cool buzzword in popular psychology lately, thanks to Angela Duckworth's book, "Grit."  I have not read it, but I've heard Duckworth interviewed several times.  I imagine it is a good book.

I've been thinking about resilience lately as I see people around me dealt horrible hands.  A colleague who has a daughter with a genetic, terminal disease loses her husband to cancer. A friend loses the love of her life to a freak medical anomaly. Another former colleague loses her husband to a long illness and now her son-in-law to an unexpected health crisis, and she has a disabled adult daughter.

What amazes me is that most of us carry on after these tragedies.  We are grief stricken, sad, miserable, angry, and all those things.  But we keep putting one foot in front of the other, we muddle through.  Sure, we make mistakes, we forget things, we lash out, we lie in bed and cry, but, for the most part, we survive. It seems pretty incredible that as humans we have the capacity to have such deep feelings of sadness and still survive.  Of course, some people become bitter or withdrawn, some find they can't cope with the pain and dull it with substances or end the pain with their own death.  But, most carry on.

Even those of us spared the most horrific of tragedies have found ourselves in situations of great sadness, or times when we have had to do things we never imagined ourselves being able to do. Somehow we do them, we find some great reserve of strength and expend it. At times we are called upon to find even deeper reserves, and they, surprisingly are there.  Today I find it incredible, the things I've done that I never thought I could do, but I am even more amazed by those around me who have gone so much further and have further yet to go. 

Things I never noticed

The other day I was remaking my bed and grumbling about the size of queen sheets.  Even though a queen size bed is 60x80 inches, the sheets seem almost square.  I'm always turning and twisting trying to get them on right.

As I tucked the fitted sheet in around the edges I found this:

I have had these sheets for years and never noticed this helpful tag.

What else have I overlooked in my life?