I don’t want normal.

I don’t want normal. I want good.

When a racial hate crime, resulting in the deaths of nine souls, occurred a block from my workplace at the time; when I was diagnosed with Type 1; when relationships ended or changed; when protests renewed; when racist statues finally came down…and when responses to a global pandemic were not handled even half as well as they could have been in my own home country…all of these required finding that catch phrase “new normal.”

Anything can be normal if it perpetuates long and far and deep enough. “Normal” doesn’t mean it’s good. 

What we had pre-Covid-19 pandemic was normal. 

Quite a lot of it wasn’t good.

I want good.

I buck against the phrasing for looking or wishing for things to “go back to normal.” I do. I hope it doesn’t cost me to say this, but I am here even if it does. I want a re-framing on this. I want a deeper understanding to be more widespread. Let’s be more careful with our word choices.

The “normal” we had was not desirable for so many, and it was, and still is now, so harmful for so many.

Let’s drop the use of the word “normal” for this. Let’s not “go back to normal” or even “find a new normal” in this, as that “new normal” will by nature drift back towards as close to what we had as is possible to manage. Instead let’s “improve,” or “find something better,” or “work forward.” Let’s “work toward good.” Or something like that. I don’t have the exact phrasing we need. But “normal” is not the right word.

Normal can be anything.

Normal where I grew up was rationing lawn care water every summer. Normal where I live now is downtown flooding with every rain, or even just every high tide.

Neither of those are particularly good. But they are both very normal.

Normal? I’m done with normal.

If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t miss it so much

Sadness is a daily reality. Sometimes it’s godawful overwhelming, and sometimes it’s a tinge that flavors life.

It’s a season of loss for me. Loss of my baby — the Old Man Baby Cat, my orange floof of love. Loss of certain experiences, gathering in person with friends and getting hugs, drumming together, high-fiving coworkers.

I’ve been very fortunate to be able to stay home at this time, our effort to keep not only ourselves safe but to prevent being carriers of the Covid-19 coronavirus to others. We’ve been home since March 15, ironically an anniversary day of ours so it’s easier to remember.

It’s now May.

In that time we have left our neighborhood once, for a medical need, and otherwise have been finding our patterns and working on our physical, emotional, and mental health from home. Trying to be of help to others from a distance, as well, but…it’s a time of sadness, which can make it harder to help.

Grief and mourning are never far from my heart these days. I think about loss a lot. I try to think about how to handle it, how to prepare for the upcoming days this month that I know are going to be in that overwhelming hurt category. I’m never very far from crying or tearing up.

But there is also still good. As the Eleventh Doctor said, Life is a pile of good things and bad. Neither one makes the other invalid. Just right now the good things keep having that taste of bittersweet.

Seeing friends via video chats (and learning tips on how to deal with that unique stressor factor…seeing oneself or constantly being aware of what you look like is awkward at best) is a wonderful time. And oddly sad.

But the sad doesn’t negate the glad.

It’s a mix.

And I will take the mix and having the good reminders and sweet times with friends over complete isolation or just bad.

But I guess I’m trying to say, I also need to sit with the sadness. Let it be there. It is present. I acknowledge it.

Somehow that makes it hurt just a little less.

I accept it. It is my companion. It’s not really there for my harm. It shows me what I value and what is dear to me.

That actually shows me something good about myself.

 

 

May is National Mental Health Month. This article from The Guardian has some insights, tips, and links to resources for dealing with mental health needs during this time of physical distancing, including a link to the Crisis Text Line (at https://www.crisistextline.org/). Please know you are not alone.

Old year toast: To Us

I think I tend to feel melancholy on the last day of the year because even though it’s mainly a way to measure passing of time and mark events in life, it is still an ending.

Sometimes I’ve wanted to celebrate and eagerly anticipate the new year, but honestly I haven’t felt like celebrating a new year’s arrival since the end of 2016.

I thought this year I might like to pick a city three hours ahead, toast for the heck of it at 9pm my time, and just go to bed early. But, I’m not sure if that feels right either. Going to bed early is still definitely a good idea though.

I think my soul needs to sit quietly for a time today. The temptation is to sulk, which will help nothing, but a bit of purposeful reflection may do me some good. It’s been a year full of good, and quite a bunch of bad. Perhaps I need to acknowledge this in order to put it to rest and move on to the new possibilities.

There’s still a lot of uncertainty, and quite frankly still a lot of bad that needs to be traveled through. Maybe that’s why the new year holds no particular excitement for me. But I will hold on to a quiet, unquenchable hope, the embers of fire in my deepest being that refuse to be put out no matter what. Sometimes those embers are cooler than at other times, but they’re still always burning, waiting until they can be full ablaze again with new kindling.

Maybe that’s my metaphor for the end of one year and beginning of another. It’s time to clear the ash away and keep it from snuffing out what’s still good. Time to find and bring in new kindling so the embers can create new fire. And then it will be time to place larger, longer burning firewood in a strategic manner to get the most of the fire for as long as possible, shifting and adjusting the wood structure of my life as needed.

This reminds me of a favorite song, Embers, by Owl City, which helped me through emotionally tough times when it was released and is still a heartening reminder.

So, I have my word for the new year. Perhaps it’s time to say a strange thank you to my old word, accept what it helped me with and what it didn’t really do, and contemplate the new word for 2019. Its time to embrace the ending, and remember it’s not final.

And when I wake up in 2019, I have a playlist to wake up and energize my emotions and my body for whatever lies ahead. Please feel free to use it as well or take it as a springboard to custom make one for yourself. Let’s be our best.

A toast to 2018, and to 2019. And mostly, to us.🥂

Five thousand meters

Life is sprinkled with a lot of negativity, ya know? It’s easy to feel down about things that aren’t right, cuz let’s face it, there are a bunch of things that aren’t right. It always seems like there’s one more major thing needing done or a metaphorical fire that needs put out before the last crisis or bill or injury or damaged relationship or whatever is taken care of.

And I’m not even getting into politics.

But, there are also a lot of good things, sometimes discouraged by the bad, sometimes shamed by ignorance, and sometimes overlooked or seeming insignificant in the moment. But the little good things keep me going. Otherwise, bleh.

And I don’t even have clinical depression.

Go hug someone (with permission).

In less than a week, I will run my first 5k race. Ever. And I choose to do it because of and for the good things. And to counter some of the bad.

I wanted a healthy challenge. Something doable, manageable, good-for-me especially in the long run…haha, and something that would kick off former shaming I’ve heard that nestled for too long between my ears. And the time is now. I’ve been working on it, training in my own manner, and I’m going to do something that I’d never previously thought I’d want to do, and practicing something that I’ve watched be shamed by people I used to admire.

I run now.

In the past when the temperatures rose and strangers slipped into their sturdy athletic shoes to take to the roads and sidewalks, I have seen people get genuinely angry to just watch others run when they happened to pass by. Because they were running in public? Because they chose this for their health? Because it’s an activity that doesn’t require much financial investment to reap huge physical rewards?

Because the angry folk couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?

I dunno. But I do know the anger was one reason, subconsciously perhaps, that I didn’t want to take to my neighborhood streets after a tiring workday or on a quiet weekend, even though I knew it would help me with everything DeTickles, with endurance, with strength, with resilience, with confidence, with everything.

It was a negative that shamed a positive. For no good reason. Maybe a reason, but not a good one.

And now I run.

And I run for me. I’m joining the countless others who have decided to lace up their shoes for their own good. I’ve joined the Type One Run Couch to 5k community, and I intend to continue running after Saturday, as part of the Type One Run community and maybe joining others, maybe even more locally.

Because I know something the angry people don’t.

This is right for me. And I like it.