Covid Quarantine - Week 9: A Letter To My Patients
Hi all,
Well done on making it through Week 9. Truly. This is crazy, different than anything any of us have ever experienced. Am I in a movie? As many of you have said: is this the Truman Show?
I was just looking through some pictures I took at this past year's Rose Parade, and thinking-- we had no idea what was coming. Sure, we had the regular anxieties of the beginning of a new year, but a global pandemic shutting down the world's economy? "Safer-at-home" policies? Masks? What the what!?!
By the time we were each eating our New Year’s brunches, whether or not we had made actual plans or even resolutions, we still had a wide array of possibilities from which to choose. The basics were covered: food, shelter, work, child care. So, as we sip our Mimosas (or Bloody Mary’s depending, um, on the night before) in sunny Pasadena, we will dream and plan our list of adventures for 2020. What could possibly go wrong?
Famous last words.
When things are upended by sudden unforeseen change, whether job loss, relational loss, a death, an election, or in this case a global pandemic, we are forced into having to adapt. We must shake things loose and practice mental flexibility. Which is not easy. But the means for this to occur most effectively is the practice of grief. Which most of us, quite naturally, have an aversion to... Who among us likes losing control? Who among us loves experiencing the sudden vulnerability we will necessarily feel as we let go? "Me, teacher, me!! Pick me!!!" said no one ever on this front. All sorts of ghosts from the past emerge when we are reminded that our existence is far more contingent on factors outside of our control than we would prefer. We are thrown into the memories of states of dependence, and realize in some ways, that that never changes. We might work hard to minimize some of those contingencies, and we should, but life is so often bigger than ourselves. We must claim our humble position time and again on the journey we call life.
A global pandemic is no different: we all are eating humble pie.
The good news is that when we grieve well (which doesn't mean it has to look pretty), we find that somehow an emergence of new life and hope returns in ways we could not have foreseen… and certainly could not have made happen on our own. In fact, it's very true that when we cease grasping tightly with our hands--as if our lives depended on things remaining a certain way--, or holding people hostage to our version of gospel truth (i.e. "my way, my truth and my life"), our hands become free to receive a deeper level of life and love we ever could have predicted.
Practice this: make a fist, hold on tightly. Keep holding. Then release your grasp into an open hand. What does that feel like?
Yes, life is often bigger than ourselves, bigger than what our little hands can grasp. But by letting go, we just might discover that life is not just bigger than us, but actually better than we ever could have imagined.
But we will never truly know that, if we don't grieve and let go.
--
I look forward to walking with you this week: see you soon.
Deborah