Becca Rowan is a writer and the author of Life in General, a collection of essays about mid-life as experienced by an American woman in the 21st century. Becca loves creating connections by sharing stories on her popular blog.
(From my morning pages notebook last week on my birthday.)
As I enter my 66th year, I’m learning to….
1. Take it slow…Spend the time it takes to do things – walk Lacey, read books, write about books, cook new recipes, fold the laundry, watch the birds. There’s hardly ever a rush anymore, so just be still.
2. Be curious instead of afraid…what if everything didn’t have to be scary?
3. Notice what you notice. Pay attention.
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As we age, our need for comforting doesn’t disappear. If anything, it increases with the demands and stressors of modern living. The difficulty is finding satisfaction in those kinds of sweet comforts we had as children and not turning to more insidious ways of feeling safe and calm and less isolated. Overeating, drinking too much, shopping, hours on the internet – those are some of the most acceptable “grown up” ways to self-soothe.
Believe me, I know. I’ve tried them all at one time or another in the past 50 years.
For most of my life I’ve rushed headlong into things. I’ve hurried and flurried about, trying to do all things for all people all the time. I say “Yes” far too often without considering all the ramifications of what I’ve just agreed to, and then sink into a pool of regret a moment later. I get swept up in feelings, most of them negative – anxiety, loss, sadness, insecurity. I busy myself trying to make everything perfect and make everyone around me happy all the time and mostly make myself unhappy in the process. I overreact to emotional situations and then resort to numbing behaviors to calm myself down.
How has it taken me 65 years of life on earth to figure out there might be a better way to live?
A lesson I’m learning in my daily meditation practice, when thoughts rain down in my mind like the flurry of leaves that have been falling from our trees.
Return to the breath. Begin again.
It’s a lesson I’m applying to my writing practice this week as I reframe my daily routine and re-commit to daily morning pages (or morning notebooking, as I think of it.)
As I discovered in my Writing Rehab process, morning pages are extremely powerful. They help access the well of words within me, and teach me to write without censorship. They generate ideas I can expand on later. They prime the well of my creative brain.
For the past few weeks my morning writing time has been haphazard as I’ve been dedicating that time to reading and note taking on another project. With the advent of colder weather as well as new stay-home orders based on rising COVID cases, my days seem a little more spacious.
So I make sure to take time for all the things that sustain me: Reading, walking, meditating, and writing.
It’s a good way to begin the day.
(If you’re ready to begin again with your writing, Download a free copy of my book. Click here to get Writing Rehab, Reclaim Your Writing Practice and Get Your Writing Life Back in Shape to help get started. .)
It’s been a while since my last update.
For some of that while, things felt almost hopeful, almost normal. Here in Michigan we began to open the world in measured steps according to a detailed plan based on a decrease in cases, hospitalizations, and deaths. The weather cleared and so we relished gathering in small groups outdoors. We could shop and (cautiously) eat at restaurants. School was officially over, and it felt like families could breathe a little sigh of relief and relax into summer mode. We’re learning to wear our masks in public spaces - although some folks are taking longer to learn than others - and for several weeks I began to think we mightbe able to manage this until a vaccine was available.
But then.
Then people in places like Florida and Texas and Arizona just couldn’t be patient, and couldn’t follow simple rules, and couldn’t make small sacrifices, and couldn’t care less about trying to help their fellow human beings.
And here we are with rampaging cases again. Not in Michigan – not yet at least, although our numbers are ticking up again – but in many other parts of the country – like Florida (our winter home) and in Texas (where my children live). So now this is getting even more personal than it was before, and I’m angry. In fact, I’m mad as hell. Because we could have done a much better job of managing this situation as a nation and as a society had we had the benefit of intelligent, unified leadership based on science, and a populace that was willing to think beyond the boundaries of their own selfish short sightedness.
The cafe where we get sandwiches and our lunchtime view from the village square
But this is what we’re left with, and what we’re facing. For our little family, life hasn’t changed much since the early COVID days. We grocery shop once a week, and we’ve added a foray into our downtown area for lunch outside in the town square, a large area dotted with umbrella tables. Sometimes we even go to our favorite pub, which has a large outdoor eating area. That is quite a treat, believe me. I don’t mind cooking every day, but I do occasionally feel like eating something besides my own cooking. Take-out meals are not my thing – it always disappoints me, and I despise all the plastic and Styrofoam containers.
We’ve gotten together with a few friends – again, outdoors, socially distanced. And we have a little coterie of neighbors who feel like family. I realize every day how important it is for us to be able to be outside. Fresh air, change of scene, the chance to walk and chat with other people – those are lifeblood right now. Even though Home is definitely my “happy place,” the thought of winter and enforced house arrest is beginning to feel untenable.
At this stage, I think everyone has to do their own personal risk assessment and analysis, and come up with a COVID protocol about what they’re willing to do and not do. Our risk is age – we’re in the over 65 category – and pre-existing conditions. My husband has fairly advanced kidney disease, which puts him at 15-20% higher risk of death from COVID. I have high blood pressure and a history of asthma, which are both considered to pose some additional risk.
So we certainly wear masks anytime we’re going to be around people, particularly in enclosed spaces. Jim rarely goes into an indoor space. He does go grocery shopping with me now, but we do not eat inside restaurants (and won’t), and he doesn’t go into any other stores. We won’t be around crowds of people for any reason. We won’t travel on an airplane.
The things I’m grateful for? Our companionship and compatibility. Jim and I have been together for 44 years - although never 24/7 until now - and it’s been such a comfort to have my quarantine partner to help me through these long days. The furry four-legged bundle of excitement and energy that gets us up in the morning and keeps us on our toes all day. Also our friends in the neighborhood, and those with whom we connect on Zoom calls and meetings in the park. My writing practice, which grounds and centers me. Books, that entertain and enlighten me.
The hardest things right now? We haven’t seen our son, daughter-in-law, and grandson since last fall, and we have no idea when we WILL see them. With the current COVID surge in Texas, it doesn’t seem like a place we should be. I told a friend the other day that I’m experiencing this like grief. I can be going about my daily activity and everything seems fine, and then I remember and my heart cries out “Oh, my children!” I miss them so much.
The other huge loss? Music. My husband is a singer, and the men’s chorus he’s sung with for 20 years is a lifeline for him. Those 90 guys gathered in a room singing their hearts out every Sunday night? Those are his Brothers In Song in every way. And now being with them would be like inviting death. When will they be able to get back together again?
No one knows. And that’s the hardest part. We have no idea what’s going to happen next. And very little control. Witnessing the stupidity at play in this country doesn’t make it any easier. I was just listening to an epidemiologist who remarked that to politicize a public health crisis in the way we’ve done with COVID is unheard of in the history of his science, and does not bode well for the possibility of being able to contain it in this country.
Eventually we will have to weigh the risk of our mental and emotional health against the risk posed by this virus and make some decisions about how to go forward. I don’t look forward to that moment.
How about you? What’s the situation in your part of the world? What parameters have you placed on your life because of COVID?
