The Thinking Corner

I am currently osculating between denial and acceptance pretty consistently every other day. Yesterday was a particularly dark day in my mind. I gave myself permission to be saddened by the idea that my daughter will likely be robbed of her last quarter of her kindergarten year. I thought of the economic crisis we are only just skimming the surface of. I wrote about where I needed my thoughts to go, because a brave face in isolation with children is heavy (you can read it by clicking below). 

But today, I have opted to change my internal perspective. A dear friend sent this message, which helped me shift my view:

Photo credit Brooke Anderson @movementphotographer

It got me thinking about opportunities to think differently, perhaps changing our perspective towards forced isolation with our families. If we look at it in the way we present our children with consequences, in our new-aged-parenting-wisdom, we don’t put them in a chair or on a timeout, we sit with them in a “thinking corner”.

Maybe we could view this as an opportunity for introspection.

I feel like every home-bound adult has been forced to look inward as our pace of life has shifted. 

Before we were in isolation, my baby wasn’t completely sold on walking. But in the past five days, she is committed, and confident. She’s a walker. I am wondering, if she’d been previously stalled because we were always rushing around when I had her strapped to my body, in the stroller, and car seat going from place to place. 

See, I thrive in the busyness. 

But maybe she doesn’t. 

It’s something I could have only learned here; in my thinking corner.

The weight of the patience I must carry now, for my daughters, is heavier than before. Yesterday, it felt like a burden and today, I’m grateful for this chance to place things into their right categories of urgency. We have been handed a paintbrush to label once petty things “unimportant”.

It’s been six days, but I can say with complete confidence that when we come out on the other side, we will love each other differently.

We will love each other better. 

If absence makes the heart grow fonder; I can only imagine the fondness we will feel, when we can finally all come back together hand-in-hand.

Photo credit: Michele Meze with Fit4Mom Davis-Woodland

Please Pull Over

I remember when I was a kid being fascinated that, as a society, we’d pull off to the side of the road to allow an ambulance or fire truck get to where it was going, faster. As a child, I appreciated the altruism surrounding the act of pulling over, even if I couldn’t quite grasp the magnitude of it. I didn’t know who they were rushing to help, but maybe the few seconds we saved them, made all the difference.

Cut to mid-March of 2020 and most of us as drivers are able to symbolically pull off the road by staying in our houses and practice “social distancing”. Like so many people, it took me a moment to recognize the severity of this situation. I hoped maybe this was an over-reaction, I believe I even referred to my own sister as a drama queen when she told us our day-to-day life would have to change drastically. Social distancing to this extrovert, sounded unpleasant. The idea of being confined to my house with my three children for upwards of a month feels claustrophobic and uncomfortable.

But what’s more uncomfortable is the spread of misinformation that this isn’t serious. I’m not sure who still needs to hear this, but this is about as serious as it gets.

If it helps you to visualize it, think about all the at-risk people you love inside the ambulance and you are sparing them the ride, just by pulling over. Just by staying in your home.

The purpose of staying home, avoiding others, metaphorically pulling over, is significant. We must flatten the curve, because our healthcare system cannot stand the weight of what’s coming if we don’t listen and follow directions now.

If we are doing it right--when we listen from inside our houses, we won’t hear sirens. It will be silent.

An alarming image we can all relate to is what’s happened in our local grocery stores; all the basics have been stripped from the shelves—things like eggs, soap, and paper towels. Everyone rushed out and took what they needed. Now imagine this at our hospitals--except it isn’t toilet paper that’s unavailable, it’s ventilators.

We have all been stripped down to the very bare essentials, and what we are left with is a primal reliance on each other.

At the heart of humanity is trust. While it may be the law to pull over to the side of the road and wait for the sirens to pass, we also want to be helpful and part of the solution. I may not know you, but we all know someone at risk we would never want inside an ambulance.

So please, pull over.

We

Sometimes in times of fear, it feels easier to jump right to anger. It feels louder and more deliberate and thus more productive. Yelling, and taking, being snide, rude, inconsiderate—in the moment brings about a surge of accomplishment. Look at me, I did something in this time of crisis!

Except, the lasting implications of our actions matter.

Our kids are watching. And they are listening.

The morning of 9/11, my first period class was AP US History and the teacher told us and I quote,

“We simply had too much material to cover for our upcoming AP test to stop and discuss what had just happened.”

The irony of this statement has never left me.

It is not a surprise that my daughters can sense my every emotion, as they are an extension of me. When my whole body vibrates with uncertainty, their little eyes look to mine for reassurance.

Every man for himself, is not a viable survival strategy. We need each other and built our society upon this very foundation, which is why it all began with the word “we”. I am not a doctor, an epidemiologist, a farmer, a manufacturer of toilet paper. I can provide a message that perhaps has been lingering at the tip of your tongue, or a lightness with words on your screen that are not intended to spread panic and fear.

This morning my big girls took turns hugging the baby; overjoyed that she just learned how to hug. Our bedroom was filled with morning light, the bedhead was exceptional as always, and ultimately when they no longer wanted to share, they simply formed one large blob of love. I may not be able to provide some things, but I hope this image leaves your heart with a good feeling. Sometimes this is the most powerful thing we can share.