The road to gratitude

When it comes to my drive to work, I can be a creature of habit. My normal route was closed for what could be many months, so I had to find my way in unfamiliar territory. A particular route was suggested to me and after driving it one morning, my outlook changed from uncertain to clear. This was, what seemed to me, to be a direct path from my morning coffee to my day’s activities. I don’t have the best sense of direction without recognizable landmarks, so I couldn’t wait for a less stressful commute.

I began driving this new route, paying attention to new landmarks I encountered along the way. In my midlife, I wanted to pay closer attention to the world around me: trying to see things for what they were, rather than just in the context of my life. My morning would connect me with park, a small casino built within an older looking building, a police station, and an urban mural (that has a nasty pothole that woke me out of my daze one day). As a fan of cultural history, I appreciated my mental meanderings of what this area might have looked like 50 years ago. Was the police station I passed built before the casino? Wasn’t that convenient, I smirked. The park was big with green grass and I considered how thought must have gone into placing this urban gem. I noted the pedestrians up early as I navigated my way to work, wondering if they had to be at work too.

It was after I’d become acclimated to my drive that I felt more confident in my route. My estimated arrival time was consistent, my intuition for timing the stoplights just right was improving. My path was clear, my commute relatively unhindered, and I knew I could get to where I needed to be. But what about that park, where I never seemed to see any children? Or those pedestrians, whom I’d now noticed becoming more prolific, not just walking, but standing in lines at specific businesses waiting for them to open? I noticed them daily, somehow stuck in that place, not seeing if they were able to move on to where they ultimately needed to be. Or was that where they needed to be? It certainly wasn’t the dilapidated old brick church, that had been boarded up to keep people safe from harm (or rather, keep it safe from people to harm?) I wondered if the lines were for those seeking assistance. Maybe they did get to where they were going.

I do not commute every day, so my experience is always a little different. The street remains the same, as simple and direct as ever, as well as my morning affirmations. I see where I need to go, but the things I notice, the people I see, and the places I pass are all different. They are different, yet in the flow of the morning I see patterns. Fences where I wasn’t expecting them. Lots of convenience-oriented shops, catering to people always on the move. And not much car traffic but always lines of people with slow steps of those who seem a little hesitant. Yesterday, I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to have a place to go and way to get there. I saw a man near a bus stop whose journey was likely not over, but had not yet begun for the day. He was partially covered, asleep, no doubt soon to wonder where his path would take him that day.

The road to gratitude can be found on any map. You just have to be willing to start your day.

The weight of personal choice

This week has had some of the hottest, most uncomfortable temperatures this year. The humidity and the high temperature are often combined to produce a “comfort index”, so when the weather forecast starts sharing this indicator, you know the day ahead will be a long, hot one. Today was one of my “dedicated” work days in the office, so the heat made the morning rush hour commute even less appealing. Nevertheless, I remain grateful to still have a job and try not to focus on the pandemic chaos around me. In a time where many are still suffering, I have tried to make my midlife simple, streamlined, and supported with moments of self care.

My job has been one of the constants in my life these past 18 months, and in uncertain times, feeling like I have control over something worthwhile each week gives me a fortunate touchstone some have lost. What I find confusing is that while 2020 seemed filled with worry about our very health and safety, 2021 is filled with debate on how to safeguard it. The ongoing, online arguments about personal choice and the feeling of “can’t we all just get along” have divided my family and friends like politics never could. The deep seated resentment against the call to vaccinate brings to the surface perspectives on basic personal truths that have shaped how my loved ones choose to live their lives. I struggle to keep the ugly debate at bay. In 2020, where I went to bed each night hoping for a solution to Covid19, I now slumber in 2021 with the worry that my family will be affected by the myriad of Covid variants. I want to remain grounded and mindful in my midlife, focused on the “now”, but I worry I may survive my children. I fear the potential sickness of my grandchildren and others who are still learning about both personal and social responsibility. But with the silently running undercurrent of dread, my mental health has almost reached DefCon One.

So it is at this stage where I began the day, on my commute to work. As the traffic signs indicated that stand still traffic was ahead, I expected a delay. What I did not plan was this: a frantic, mama dog running along the shoulder of the highway, tongue out and panting heavy. White with an occasional black patch of fur, this dog was attempting run out into multilane, rush hour traffic, trying to get to some place safe. Only focused on her survival, she ignored me and the multiple commuters who were driving at a crawl next to her, trying to keep her from darting into an oncoming car. We all soon stopped on the shoulder, bribing her with treats and opening our car doors to entice her to safety. Our attempts were met with frenzied barking as our group of would be rescuers wondered what more they could do. We’d offered her treats, the authorities were asked to help, and we’d been struggling within our ability to keep her safe. In the end, driven by her fear, she continued running forward – as though with blinders on – hoping to get to some place ahead where she could rest. In the end, I could do no more and drove away, surprisingly filled with anger at the dog for where she’d chosen to run and put her life in danger.

I’d no more turned off my flashers when I started to cry. My anger had turned to anguish, in that I saw what the likely outcome would be but helpless to do anything about it. The weight of my choice to withdraw did not change my feeling of responsibility. The weight of one’s personal choice on others does not lighten the feeling of desperation in times of danger. For many, onset of the pandemic brought families closer together, highlighting the personal choice to value family and safety above all else. Now, the choice to vaccinate is highlighting the personal choice to be an individual, separate from the weight of responsibility that is placed on others. I hope it is soon that we all stop running out of fear and stop to see the others who are carrying the load who might be there to help.

Cracks in the ceiling

During this time of COVID-19 and the importance of limiting exposure to the outside world, I believe we have all spent a little more time focused on home. More of my friends and family put up holiday decorations earlier than normal. Wanting that feeling of coziness and safety among dear ones was key to supporting one’s emotional health. I was sent plenty of images showing Hallmark movie holiday décor and families in festive attire. Social media blurred its lens to display pictures that others in our community wanted us to see – that they were making it. They were surviving. That they were ok and looking ahead to healthier and happier times. But this season, not all families wore matching Christmas pajamas.

In many families, like mine, there is discord at home. Fractures in our faith in what is right and what is wrong have made me uncomfortable with those who tell me my mask makes me someone who doesn’t value freedom. I am afraid of the growing violence and hate disguised as support for our leadership. And most of all, I am concerned that friendships are being torn apart. At a time when my world is small, and restricted, my relationships with family and friends are what I have left to connect me with the outside. While my midlife self is decluttering my home of memories and emotional baggage from the past in order to live in the present, it means that I am more closely examining the four walls of my world. And right now, my world is my home. My door keeps sickness out and lets family in. My friendships help me sort out what to keep and what to throw away. However, in these desperate times, I am not feeling as safe in my community. The overly attentive mother is examining her midlife with scrutinizing detail, and what she is finding is not pretty.

The complexity and challenge of remaining healthy and compassionate when the world around you is crumbling can be overwhelming. The discourse of the day about vaccines, masks, and even safe holidays at home put me at odds with what normally makes me healthy and happy this holiday season. While I should have been decking the halls and making merry, I was fortifying my structure and engaging in debate that weakened my faith in my community. This new year, I have found cracks in my ceiling. I just hope that my roof, and the roof over us all, doesn’t come tumbling down.