covid – A Graceful Catastrophe

If there’s anything that 2019 taught me, and 2020 has reinforced, it’s that the way I feel most at peace is to live one moment at a time. The future is scary. And unknown. And sad – heartbreaking even. I know this to be true because that has been my future before.

But this new future doesn’t exist yet. So why feel the emotions of the potential, no matter how convinced I am that they will indeed be my reality?

My eyes are puffy right now, from spending the last bit of the evening crying at the potential pain that may come my way at some point in the future. I felt the deep sadness as though it has already occurred.

But why? It doesn’t yet exist. And that specific sadness may never. Yet, I placed energy, and many tears, into the present because I wasted time thinking about some fictional future. Why not wait until that potential future becomes a reality, then figure it out?

Am I alone here? Do you guys do this?

Is it because I’ve been blindsided and hurt more times than I’d like to remember so even the potential of feeling any pain again feels so real?

Perhaps, if I analyze it all and actually experience the pain now, it won’t overcome me in the future. When it happens, it’ll just be something that I’ve been expecting to happen and since I’ve already processed it, it can simply be a thing that happens. And then it will pass right on by with very little consequence. Right? Surely it can work like that. *shrug*

I can’t even count the number of times in the last couple years where I’ve stared blankly at a wall in my home, no more tears left to fill my now dry and swollen eyes, and felt nothing, having been so overcome with pain or fear – or both – that it left me frozen and empty.

And yet, time and again, I walk into the next day, head held high, forcing myself to live strictly in the very moment that exists right then and there, because that is absolutely the one and only thing I have even a minute semblance of control over.

But seriously. Control…what a ridiculous thought that is. I’ve come to realize that life just happens to us. We encounter a series of events that are neutral, bring us good fortune, or challenge us. And then our options are to breathe a sigh of relief and smile for a moment or figure out how to deal with it. We choose to share our good with others or lean on them as we figure out how to grow from the difficulties. But so much of what we think we can control in our lives is a complete sham – a figment of our imaginations.

Life just is. The good is never as good as it feels. It’s far too fleeting to fully enjoy anyway. And the bad is rarely as bad as it seems. It’s typically a catalyst for change. And change, overall, is good.

There’s a lot on my mind. A lot I’ve been internalizing. It’s so heavy. And I know I’m not alone, which isn’t very comforting. 2020 has been a heavy year for most. And we’re all looking for the light at the end of the tunnel…some little spark of sunshine that will help us to feel the warmth of the future, to bask in its glory for even a moment.

But the unknown – goodness, it’s terrible, isn’t it? The inability to make plans, for someone like me, is paralyzing. And as a dreamer, to be so unsure of what may come can be crippling and destroys my ability to hope for even the smallest wish. Sometimes I feel as though I cannot endure yet another ounce of pain or sadness, yet I feel it lurking around the corner. The idea that I’ve heard many share – let’s close out 2020 and look forward to 2021, a new year, a new hope… I just can’t see the break in the clouds yet. I worry about what is to come.

There are too many fights left to fight – most of which haven’t even begun yet – and too many future lashes to my heart to try to fend off, but all of which feel inevitable.

I’m sick of tending to my wounds. So tired of rising above and having to find a way to recover from life’s challenging circumstances.

But, I guess we all are.

So, let’s all take a collective breath and remember, it’s never as bad as it seems. (Thanks for that great quote, Edward Zander.) Even though it (whatever “it” is for you) feels really bad, scary, daunting, and/or hurtful.

Life just happens.

Since I’m grounded once again (writing to the rescue!), the swelling in my eyes reduced enough that I am no longer squinting at my computer screen, I’m choosing to focus on the good, because there is always some good to be found. To refocus on this breath, this moment, because this very second is the only reality of any importance at all. And in this second, with the fireplace burning, the dogs snoring, and the Christmas lights twinkling, I can exhale because life, as it is currently happening is, overall, good. And I am grateful.

So, apparently I make a pretty incredible cinnamon roll.

I discovered this secret after quarantine gifted me almost a complete loss of income. “Gifted me,” you ask?

Why, yes. I am a private math tutor and my working hours are typically after school and weekends. Because of that, my daughter was seeing more of her babysitters than she was of me. My time was consumed with growing my business. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do! It’s just that I was also missing my daughter…so much. On March 17, we went on lockdown. Shortly thereafter, I lost almost all of my clients. Which means, I lost the vast majority of my income.

Thank goodness I’d saved for several significant vacations my daughter and I were going to take this summer. Because I had something to fall back on. For a while, at least.

And then things got serious. And I got nervous. I was overwhelmed with fear – how was I going to survive without any income??

As a stress relief, I started to bake. I’ve always loved to create in the kitchen and there’s no feeling quite like the one that comes over me when someone compliments my cooking.

One day I made cinnamon rolls from scratch, along with the frosting. My friend in Texas had made them and sent me the recipe. I had nothing else to do, so I decided to also make them.

They were SO good! And the recipe had made SO many! I decided to go to social media and made this, what I thought was sarcastic, post:

As it turns out, I stumbled upon some pretty interesting information: people really, really love cinnamon rolls!

I started to get orders for cinnamon rolls like crazy! In those first several days, I didn’t leave my kitchen. I was making cinnamon rolls from the time I opened my eyes until I collapsed into bed at 2 am.

And so began, the cinnamon roll life.

Now, I’ve learned how to manage the orders and lump them on the same day. I make cinnamon rolls once a week now and I’ve even begun cooking dinners! On the weeks that I have my daughter, and it’s a “cinnamon roll day,” she breathes in deeply when she hugs me and says, “Mmm! You smell like cinnamon rolls!”

I love the example that’s being set for her. This virus, and the quarantine that followed, threw every single person in the world for a loop. Most of us have this illusion that we’re in control.

We’re not. Not even a little bit. We can plan and prepare for almost anything and there will still be some “opportunity” (that’s what I call difficult moments now) that presents itself. When we are given this opportunity, we can either choose to succumb to the stress and whine and complain, curl up in a ball and freeze, wondering how in the world you’re going to make it (which is what I did for a hot second)…OR you can embrace it and do whatever it takes to not merely survive, but thrive.

I’m a “thriver.” I am not a survivor. Last year, when catastrophe struck on a personal level, it was all I could do to simply survive. I learned an abundance in those initial 8 months and during the most wonderful solo trip to Greece, I was able to reinvent, or perhaps just rediscover, who exactly I was.

And I am a thriver.

Whatever is thrown at me, I will make the lemonade from those sour lemons. And it’s going to taste damn delicious.

Catastrophe continues to teach me who I am. Through each difficult pass in this journey, I am able to unfurl another layer and delve deeper into the essence that makes me, well, me. And, at least currently, the me that I am smells like cinnamon rolls.

I don’t quite think there is anything better, or more beautiful, than the chance to really see what you’re made of, down to your core. This virus has given me a souvenir that I will add to my collection as yet another reminder that I am strong, capable, and enough.

What souvenirs from this historical moment are you taking into the future with you?

Tag: covid

Life Happens

My Cinnamon Roll Life