Taking your emotional pulse

Hello, friends. I wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling these days.

Earlier this week, Glennon Doyle posted this on her social media channels:

Hello. Just Wondering if Anyone else feels like they have lost the point.

I no longer know “how i am.” I do not know what to do what to say who to call what to eat how to plan how I feel. I don’t know if I’m doing enough too much not enough. I forgot how to parent, how to friend how to lead how to achieve or serve or rest or heal or work hard play hard yadda yadda.

I am kind of Mean, suddenly. The meanness that comes from numbness.

I have forgotten the structure, the way of things. I want Something To Change. The closest feeling I have Access to is: claustrophobia?

I do love you. I know that much.

G

The candid remarks resonated with me, as much as all of her brilliant writing does, but a few of the lines in particular scared up some sentiments (and admittedly some fear) that have been stirring in my own tired mind. “I am kind of Mean, suddenly. The meanness that comes from numbness. I want Something To Change.”

To talk about change, we first have to address the status of things, which can be … uncomfortable. There’s a simultaneous spread of both divisiveness and apathy in our world right now – two dangerous states of being swelling side-by-side and poisoning the population. It’s an emotional pandemic, perhaps fueled by the virus, but rooted in pain and positions that were sprouting long before anyone heard the term “COVID.” Every conversation I have these days is really just a trail of breadcrumbs leading to some tender, emotional bruise. People are frustrated, angry, skeptical, wary, stir crazy, distressed. They are exhausted; succumb to the antagonistic environment infiltrating our spirit from all directions.

I’m heartsick over the animosity in our country, in our neighborhoods, in our families and friendship circles. My soul doesn’t feel safe anywhere. So many people are screaming at the same time, that no one’s really being heard. The truth – whatever that means anymore – is muffled by a rising roar of hatred. Somewhere along the line, there was this unanimous adoption of the belief that people are either right or wrong, good or bad, based on how their opinions align or misalign with our own. Platforms and social gatherings once used to connect and celebrate our shared human experiences are now battlegrounds for hurling inaccurate headlines and dangerous assumptions. We are fractured into millions of sharp, perilous pieces – quick to cut, without remorse or responsibility. We’re broken. Without a doubt.

So many, like Glennon, want something – anything – to change just so that we can sip from that sweet cup of “normalcy” again. But that desire feels hopeless. The world feels wild and explosive.

My kids are on a real Hamilton kick right now. It’s all they want to listen to, all hours of the day, every car ride, garage concerts, the whole deal. The other night we got to talking about our favorite songs from the musical. I’m partial to “Wait for it,” mostly because of the line, “I am the one thing in life I can control.” It’s something I’ve said to the chicks over and over, time and time again. People will be mean. People will do things that are unkind or unjust. You can only control your own actions and responses in the face of others’ ugliness. Lately, the line has been resonating with me in new ways. It’s become somewhat of a personal mantra.

I can’t change the global state of things. Even the thought of trying to have an impact on that scale right now is aspirational, sure, but enough to swallow anyone whole. But I can put a finger under my chin and tilt my own head toward the sun and the stars.

Every morning when I wake up, every time I pick up my phone, with every breath, in every second of my day, I have two hands on the steering wheel and a foot to hit the gas or the brake. I don’t have to watch the news, which often, I don’t. When I feel a conversation taking a turn, I can use my words to ask questions and seek to understand, or I can walk away if that’s what feels like the best path to self-preservation, which often, it does. It’s not about “being a snowflake” or avoiding confrontation or any of the other aggressive labels people believe we need to apply to foreheads these days. Boundaries are a beautiful thing.

There are so many strong wills and cemented opinions out there right now. The resolve is both a source of angst and admiration for me. These immovable demarcations make it difficult to reach a common ground, and, being wired the way I am, often feel more personal than political, but there is always a choice. So often, we subject ourselves to the same painful exchanges, over and over again, until the wounds are so deep there isn’t a salve strong enough to heal them. These days, I find myself weighing the risk of an incurable outcome in all of my conversations and endeavors, with the reminder that “no” is always an option. I have been blessed with two feet on which I can always choose to walk away.

If you want to know how I am right now, the truth is I am fighting like hell. Every day I am raging against the numbness. I am clinging to the variables I can control. I relate to the words Glennon wrote because these days that resignation is always just one insult, one newsfeed story, one broken relationship away. I am operating out of a dire wish to maintain some shred of optimism, self-respect and a heart full of love for the lives around me. I don’t want to “lose the point,” because then what? What do we have left? A pandemic is hard. Social unrest is hard. Polarizing political views are hard. But I don’t have to let these tensions break me, as much as I might bend. I can stand for something without contributing to the poisonous public commentary that, let’s face it, isn’t helping anyone.

What felt like a side-stitching sprint, is now unarguably a marathon, with no end in sight. Amongst the chatter, I hear shaky statements like, “Once the election is over …” or “As soon as they approve a vaccine …” as if the ache is coming from just one tender tooth.

I am trying to be really honest with myself about what I want to hold onto and who I want to be on the other side of this dark time. I’ve seen relationships dissolve over tense dinner conversations and inner lights dim over long stints at home without visitors. Things are so different. So many people are in pain. I am the one thing in life I can control.

So, what am I’m holding onto? There are many things, and I certainly believe that one person’s lifeline is another person’s luxury, and that’s OK. For me, first and foremost, there are a handful of relationships that I will do almost anything to preserve. While my beliefs align with the majority of the loved ones in this group, it’s not true with all. It’s important to me to try to understand, rather than discard and disown. It’s not easy, but some people are worth fighting for. We all experience life differently, and those experiences shape our perspectives. We can’t assume everyone thinks like us, or that they’re “wrong” or “bad” for seeing through a different lens. We don’t know what we don’t know. Ask questions. Have a discussion. And if it starts to tear at the fabric of your friendship, you can always change the subject. Some folks just wait too darn long to call it for the sake of salvaging the mutual respect every relationship requires.

I’m also letting my heart marinate in the beautiful, effortless connections I have, like a marshmallow in hot cocoa, soaking in that sweetness and appreciating the simplicity. In a time when so many don’t have anyone, I’m exceptionally grateful for the nearness of my tribe.

Prioritizing my mental and physical health has been a roller coaster during these past several months, but I know with great certainty that when I’m challenging my body, carving out time for trail runs with some special women in my life (church, as we call it) and getting enough good sleep, I am more of who I want to be. My mind is clearer. My patience is longer. And my optimism muscle is stronger.

Finally, and I know this one sounds a little judgmental, but I’m constantly taking stock of who I don’t want to be. If the past few months have given me anything, it’s a thousand tiny snapshots of just how ugly humans can be. Dirty glances. Flippant, blanket statements about segments of people. Poking and pot stirring. Firing for effect. Disregard for lives lost. Personal preference trumping the greater good. Over and over and over again I’ve seen displays of gross, gut-turning behavior and commentary. So often, I think we see the disturbing tendencies of others, roll our eyes and move on, without holding that mirror up to ourselves and asking if we’re guilty of similar crimes. In my moments of self-reflection, when I wrestle with who I want to be, sometimes I find clarity in the less desirable attributes I’ve seen in others.

I hope, sweet friends, that you are well. My wish for you is that you’re riding these waves, following the sun and finding your way through. But if you aren’t, I think that’s OK, too. If you’re “losing the point,” you aren’t the only one. Hold onto the things that matter to you and check in with your heart often. I truly believe that we’re all going to meet up on the other side, stronger, more empathetic and grounded in gratitude.