Sometimes in the stillness of the evening, I lay awake. I listen to the wind beat the branches into submission. They too need to be still. They too need to find refreshment in solitude.
I have officially been in the house, in the house being a relative term, in the house including grocery stores, pharmacy, and Target runs, for almost three weeks now. Yet, I haven’t felt it. I have contributed my carefree longing for couch time and quiet moments to the introvert I so solemnly hide. For months, maybe even close to two years, I have moved about the earth eating breakfast in my car,finding the dopest sneakers to wear with my dresses – as walking about the hallways of an elementary school seems to be my pastime, and eating dinner well past 9pm because “my body just can’t seem to settle down” is/was my norm.
Yet, everything stopped. At once. Everything stopped at once and here I am, almost three weeks into the order given to an entire city. Somedays it feels as if nothing stopped at all. Yet, here’s what I am learning:
- The Magnitude of Pain Can Never be Regarded in Words
When restrictions were first placed on the city, it felt as if no one heard the weight of what was being said. Everyone saw a change in circumstances, yet the weather broke outside and the time ordered to be spent indoors, was spent on stoops, courts and in take-out spots. No one listened to the stern orders, quivers in voices, nor warnings. Yet, when tragedy touches home, the beeps of a working ventilator, the rhythmic movements of lungs working hard, the outcrys like Angela Bassett on the floor when Denzel died as Malcolm suddenly becomes real. Then pain becomes social media posts filled with “oh no” “I can’t believe” “not Mr…” “it can’t be my…” Pain never weighs in the magnitude of words, it’s only felt.
- Grind Culture, like Haters, is Imaginary
There is this persistent idea that every hobby has to be a stream of revenue. That a person cannot simply do something that they love because, well, they love it. This notion that filling one’s time with empty cans of busyness, is fulfilling; it’s not.I tend to believe that most people fill their time with work, things, and others as a mechanism to avoid dealing with themselves. When a friend of mine was going through a particularly tumultuous time in her life, I would always tell her to silence the noise around her. Sometimes an alleged ‘grind culture’ is merely noise that allows us to remain uncentered. Grind culture doesn’t exist, it’s an escape mechanism, an external response to unprocessed trauma that we all abide to because… it’s easier.
- Practicing Gratitude eases the sting of “Cabin Fever”
Most states have been on shelter-in-place orders for, about, two weeks – give or take. Some longer, some shorter. I have heard many exclaim, “I need to get out of this house.” “I am tired of being quarantined!” We aren’t quarantined. As I listen to many speak of their perceived lack of freedom I realized that 1) traveling has provided me a broader perspective (freedom of the mind, a different kind of freedom) and 2) gratitude goes a long way. I awaken each morning, say a prayer of thanks and realize that while I may not always “like” what is happening externally, I sure can control what is happening internally. And if sitting in the house to many seems so incredibly hard, I’ll offer up an extra prayer of thanks for each of us for simply having a roof to call home.
Sometimes in the stillness of the evening, I am reminded that solitude provides a road map to refocusing. I sit still and allow my mind not to lean into fear, but am reminded that I am remarkably made and can indulge in the capacity to learn, try and be anything. Trees find refreshment in solitude. They have to shed leaves in order to re-bloom. New seasons arrive. I figured a few weeks back that this season of sitting still is just the beginning of a new bloom.
Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash