Doing ordinary things...
…a gift in extraordinarily difficult times
Once again, I’ve managed to get through a horrible week without rolling up in a ball under the bed. What got me through wasn’t anything spectacular. It wasn’t meditation, or journaling, or therapy, or meds, or even stuffing my face with chips (as has happened in the past). What made the week bearable, hour by hour, day by day, step by step, was a series of ordinary, simple activities, one at a time. And friends.
I learned, during my recovery from breaking down in 2019, that I generally do best if I limit myself to One Main Planned Thing per day. I have friends who can go from Thing to Other Thing to Next Thing and squeeze in One More Thing — and they thrive on it. I vaguely remember being like that when I was much younger and life had not become so damn life-y. But at this age, in these days and times, I have to watch my activity level and protect my rest. I need to know what’s coming.
Which is a bummer, really… because I tend to limit myself (probably) more than I need to. I really don’t mind being alone and quiet, and in these rotten, shocking days, it is tempting to retreat into my cocoon. But last week, in spite of the State of Everything, the world presented several moments I can only call healing.
Simple things, really…. unexpected and not Part of my Plan.
Early in the week, my son spent some time at a nearby farm, weeding, and harvesting carrots. At the last minute, I tagged along with my sketchbook and watercolors. Sitting beneath a truly noble, great-grandmother cottonwood tree, I fiddled and painted and breathed. Mourning doves in the trees cried their sadness, the neighbors’ guinea hens crowed and yakked, and somewhere in the field, there was the sound of mowing. And the big bad world receded.
It is absolutely true that getting yourself outdoors helps clear away the blues.
A few mornings later, my friend Sandra texted that she was taking herself out to breakfast and to the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center (one of my favorite places). Awww, I wish I could come with you! I texted from my bed, where I was wallowing in a Mood. She responded, I can pick you up! A shared meal and several hours absorbing art and artifacts in a place we both care deeply about enriched my day immensely and lifted my spirits and hers.
Spontaneity and companionship — time spent with a cherished friend — got me out of my head (and out of the damn bed).
Toward the end of the week, a good friend and I shared coffee and pastry in a small and lovely plaza in Albuquerque’s Old Town. With a quiet fountain providing background music and shade trees creating the illusion of privacy, we talked about some Very Hard Stuff. Little brown birds pecked at our crumbs as the sun moved slowly across the patio — and our hours together were restorative and important.
Taking the time to say what needs to be said… making space to listen… allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and connected… precious indeed.
OK, nothing earth shattering. But wow, what a gift! If I had rolled up under the bed (as I very much wanted to do), I would have missed so much. I’m wrapping up the week with a promise to myself: Leave space to say yes to quiet activities I haven’t exactly planned for… because these simple moments can make a surprising difference.
Kathy, thank you. This is so beautiful. For me, one of the great secrets of life is that it is the ordinary that IS extraordinary. You heeded the call deep within your heart, and opened that sometimes heavy door (got to the tree with your sketchbook, got out of bed and to the breakfast)....Triumphs.
This is beautiful Kathy. I so relate to a slower pace for self preservation. Just before the pandemic lockdown, I decided I needed to be social, so I spent most days with one or two activities. After a few weeks of that, I was so exhausted.
We both know from cancer that the small moments are to be treasured. That’s what makes up a life, anyhow, right?
Also, I think human connection is so important, especially in these scary times. Sometimes the hardest part in that is getting out of bed and opening the door.