Dear 2020...don't let the door hit you...

Dear 2020, 

Well. What a difference a year makes, eh?

• A year ago, I was all about “the end of a decade and the beginning of a decade” jokes.

• A year ago, I was worried about the state of the world, but felt distant and safe from where I sat.

• A year ago, I felt at peace with myself in a way I hadn’t before and felt so fortunate to feel that way.

• A year ago, I was working out with others in a space that I loved and doing things with my body that I could hardly imagine doing.

• A year ago, I felt safe and happy around my bustling school and loved that feeling of belonging that came with being part of a community.

• A year ago, there were gross inequities in education across our country, lack of technology that was a given for others, but only a few really talked about it.

• A year ago, people could pretend that civil rights battles were a thing of the past, even though deep down they probably knew better.

• A year ago, a global pandemic was the stuff of horror movies.

• A year ago, it would have been laughable to think that the idea of protecting fellow citizens in the name of public health was something that could be politicized in such a way that people would deny there was anything wrong, or worse, use a laughing emoji as a reaction to a post about a fellow countryman’s death.

How was I to know what you had in store for us all?  In my world, as excited as I was to welcome you, by the end of the very first day, I was ready to send you back. Fear and trauma in my own family gave way to grief and sadness for friends, big losses in my community, and finally so much loss, anger and anxiety in the world. I’m honestly not sure rehashing the year is the direction I want to take, since just about every other person who has something to say today is already doing that. Instead, more and more lately, I can’t help but think there’s a reason we all (collectively) have experienced this hard year together. 

Brene Brown refers to the big events that people experience together as “collective effervescence,” an “experience of connection, communal emotion, and a ‘sensation of sacredness’ that happens when we are a part of something bigger than us.” She writes that she got the term from a Dutch social scientist and ever since I read it a few years ago, it’s stayed with me and I come back to it. A lot. Usually thinking of big, happy events. A great rock concert attended as a teen and finding out that a current friend was there that night, too. The day it snowed in Miami. The day your team won the big championship (looking at you, '72 Dolphins). But sad ones, too. 9/11. The Challenger explosion. The day John Lennon died. And now, 2020. 

There has to be a reason, or a lesson, or even a moral to this crazy story. So many times this year, I’ve thought, “No. Seriously…this isn’t really happening. Right?” And then, of course, “Oh. Yes. It is.” Maybe it was the message to slow down. Maybe it was that we need to take a time-out and figure out what our priorities are, as individuals, as communities, as a country, as a world. Maybe we’re supposed to fix the things that are wrong. Maybe we’ll never really know because we’re too busy fighting. With each other. With the messenger. With the message.

2020, when I look back at you, I know that part of your lasting mark will be the memory of loss, tears shed and anxiety. The year we said goodbye to our beloved dog, the year of "virtual" graduations and everything else. The year of curbside pickup and words we'd all probably prefer never to hear again (looking at you, Unprecedented, pod, pivot and hoax). 

But I don't think that tells the whole story. I think your legacy will also be the beauty noticed in everyday things. A gorgeous sunrise on an early morning walk, or an equally as gorgeous sunset on a different day’s later walk. Cooking dinner at home, night, after night, after night. People met in my neighborhood during daily walks; different “regulars” depending on time of day, most ready with a wave and "Hello." And when you stop seeing someone, having a little tug of concern, even if you don’t know them well enough to check on them. A global explosion of creative expression and compassion in a world that so often feels less than kind.

I’ll look back on you as the year you almost took my love from me, but then didn't, and we found new ways to live and be grateful for what we have; the year you brought my immediate family together, under one roof, for a time. At a time when, while getting used to and sort of digging the empty nest, having us all together felt safe and right and like a gift that was most unexpected. Realizing, as an extrovert, that I might actually just prefer being at home with my people and that might not be a terrible thing. And really, maybe the biggest take away for me is how much the things I need the most, the things that sustain me the most, have been right in front of me all along. And I didn’t have to get stuck in a twister and go on a journey to a strange land with a scarecrow, tin man and lion to figure it out.

I don’t know what your successor has on tap for us. I certainly don’t harbor any illusion that 2021 will magically put us in a happy place where we’re all singing “Kumbaya” together. I’ve spent enough time deep in thought over  the past 10 months, trying to imagine how others in past eras responded to their own hard times. They pushed through, they found the strength and courage to do the tough things. And that’s what I hope we can do, too. 

Happy New Year, 2020...don't let the door hit you on the way out!

Love,

Jen

Finding the simple joys on the harder days

There are days in quarantine that just feel harder than others. And of course, they are. Pandemics are hard. People are dying. We already have more than 10,000 more than the estimate we were given two weeks ago for total US deaths. And we still lack adequate testing. And we can’t trust the information we’re given by our leaders as they work to silence the scientists who are most knowledgable. And people are storming state capitals with artillery and others are balking at the mere suggestion that wearing a mask might help others stay alive. Or they’re refusing to social distance in the name of “we want to go to work” when what they seem to mean is “I’m bored and I want to go to the beach.” (disclaimer: I KNOW people need and want to go back to work. That isn’t what those “protests” are really about anymore than they’re what this post is about). Of course this is hard. People are struggling financially, people are dealing with all kinds of things. It’s hard to watch the news most days. 

But when I say some days just feel harder than others, I mean hard on a more visceral level. The kind of hard where you feel like you’re going to cry and can’t really pinpoint something “that’s wrong,” but you know you just feel sad enough to, anyway. Maybe you miss your students and school the way it used to be. Maybe you had an “optional” Zoom class and no one showed up and even though you’re adult enough to know not to take it personally, you still do. Kind of. Or you sign in to a staff meeting that you don’t absolutely have to be at just because you want to see your co-workers’ faces for a few minutes. Or maybe you’re at the point where, in any other school year you’d be knocking out some of your best work and projects along with winding things down with students, but you can’t seem to make yourself do them the way you want to, instead inventing new things to do that don’t turn out the way you want them to.

And on these harder days, I suppose we have a couple of options. We can: 1) Wallow in the sadness; 2) Ignore and just push through; 3) Stop, take a breath and realize you’re not being terribly productive, lace up your shoes and go for a walk. If you opt for number three, here’s what could happen. You might get a couple of doors down and see these grand sidewalk chalk drawings that say, “Thank you” and “Thank you Teachers.” Maybe you get a little further into your walk and you see a family across the street with their dogs and you yell over to the 3-year-old who’s wearing a backpack, “Hey…that’s an awesome backpack,” (because that’s the sort of thing you typically do) and he strikes up a great conversation with you (from a distance). He tells you his dogs’ names and then, as you say goodbye, he finishes the conversation with, “Bye. Be safe!” And at this point, you tear up but also start smiling a little. As you keep walking, a song like “Titanium” comes on and it does exactly what you need it to do,, so you listen to it two or three (or maybe four?) times and you even add in the arm motions from your cardio dance class, not caring what others may think as they walk by you doing your big muscle arms. 

These hard days really are tough. This may be the hardest thing most of us, collectively, have ever had to do together. There’s no real instruction book on how to handle life in quarantine. Or what to do when the news brings us down and we become disillusioned or we miss things from LBC. We all have different ways of coping: Sharing funny memes, political rants, baking, creating, exercising. It sure feels like getting out and finding the simple joys during a midday walk is one sure thing I’ve found to help on days like this. What are some things that work for you? 

Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 2)

Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 2)

Masks

For some reason they’re controversial, probably because the CDC reversed course in its recommendations regarding them, saying at first that they weren’t needed and later changing to yes, they will protect others from ourselves. Because, you know…science and data change and so do conclusions. But since wearing them is going to be part of our new reality going forward (note that I didn’t say “new normal?”), they bear some thought. At least for me.

First, they’re not terribly comfortable. They’re itchy and hot and they make it weird to breathe in and make you notice that you might need to pop a breath mint or chew some gum. Second, they make it hard to recognize people. I was wearing mine at the grocery store the other day and saw someone wearing hers. She said, “Hi” to me, so I said, “Hi” back thinking it was a polite greeting, but as I walked away, I realized I knew her. Not well…she’s a teacher of a similar content area at another school and we’re Facebook friends who’ve met in person a handful of times. So I had to double back and confirm that I did know her. We laughed and I realized that wearing masks means we will need to depend on eye and hair recognition in a way we haven’t before. Third, the fashion sense of these will be interesting. I wonder if people will like wearing them more when they have cute ones that match their personalities? And fourth, I was wearing my mask as I picked up our take-out dinner last night. As I walked out, there was a couple waiting in their truck to go in that smiled a greeting at me and I smiled back at them. After all…PEOPLE! But then I realized I was wearing my mask and they couldn’t tell I’d responded. So I said, “You can’t tell, but I just smiled back at you!” And the woman said, “I did know. I could see the smile in your eyes.” So…the eyes have it.  

(And, because these are random thoughts, this topic reminded me of this song from the Top Gun soundtrack )

Can we pull this one out?

Have you ever walked into a class where you were hit with a pop quiz you weren’t really prepared for and as you started it, you thought, “Hmmm..it's tough, but I think I might be able to pull this out.”? Then, as you got further into it, you realized it was harder than you thought and you weren’t really sure which way it might go, after all? 

I kind of feel like we, as a country, were hit with a pop quiz six weeks ago. Maybe not a pop quiz, but a test. Probably the biggest test of our lives. Really, it's the ultimate test of courage. None of us regular people had studied for it (of course scientists and epidemiologists had). And we started out thinking how daunting it seemed, but we were doing it anyway. And we came together in that spirit of sticktoitiveness that makes America great (not the slogan, but for real, actually great). The way our ancestors did in times of world war or as they settled this new country and everyone worked together for the greater good. We knew that by staying in and experiencing some discomfort, we were not only protecting the vulnerable among us, but we were also helping the first responders, the doctors, the nurses, so they could do their jobs. This was our “Greatest Generation” moment. A time for us to look beyond our own needs and think about others.

And at first, most of us did all that. Many businesses learned new ways to conduct business. Teachers learned new ways to teach, children learned new ways to learn, families did things together. Social media feeds were filled with love and sharing and caring. It was like after years of divisiveness, we’d started to come together in this shared experience to fight a common enemy, Covid-19. But then, some started getting restless and stories emerged of politicians who’d said awful things like, “Old people should be willing to die to save the economy.” Never mind that these same politicians ran on a “pro-life” platform. Never mind that we were all coming together. New hashtags started appearing and the president began calling for states to “liberate” even after he himself had released a “phase in” approach to “reopening” states and our country.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. If we can remember why we were doing this and have some patience and perspective, it would go so far.  What we’ve been doing is one of the most selfless acts we’ve ever collectively done.  Is anyone really willing to sacrifice family members so others can go back to the way life used to be? Will life really go back to what it used to be? Do we want that? Can those who say to let the vulnerable, older, or weaker people die pick someone in their own family to let go? I sincerely doubt it.

Suddenly, it feels like that test that was really challenging but we could handle is a test that we, as a country, are failing. But it’s a pretty long test. It's ongoing, and I feel like if we could just take a collective deep breath, we can dig in deep and maybe turn things around to get that passing mark, after all.

"All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with white carpet is one of them." (Erma Bombeck)