Whoa — Not so Fast
I see myself becoming part of the crowd rushing to the pandemic’s exit. Enough already. I’ve had two shots — thank you, science — and I’m ready to break out of isolation. I have things to do, places to go and people I’ve missed. Here I come!
Well, almost. There’s a still, small voice within me offering a whispered warning: “Easy does it, Mary — you might want to think before you act.”
I’ve long known but never lived by the motto, “Look before you leap.” I’ve paid the cost. But the COVID virus did, by force more than choice, introduce me to a life-pause button. I’ve had my life stopped before by personal crises and trauma. This was different. This time I was healthy enough to not simply react but to reflect — to look, since there was no place to leap anyway.
While leaning on the pause button, I wondered if I’d really been a passive participant in my own life. I’ve filled my days with habits — what I wear, what gifts I give, what people I see, what shows I watch — and in the quiet of the pandemic, I saw that I was moving day-to-day on habits more than choices or decisions.
I don’t get a re-do on all of my life, but if there’s ever to be a second chance, now’s the time. I don’t want to squander it. As Robyn Schneider once remarked, “Second chances aren’t forever. Even miracles have an expiration date.”
For me, the year of pandemic was also a year of discovery. I would never have imagined a presidentially-inspired mob brutalizing the Capitol, leaving five dead and dozens hospitalized. The reality of January 6 is still reverberating in my soul. I’m still coming to grips with what it taught me.
More hopefully, it was a year to consider the realities of our world. I never knew the power of the American (and global) caste system before Isabel Wilkerson taught me “The Origins of Our Discontents.” Reading her, I remembered being told — while watching smoke rise over Detroit’s 1967 riots — not to be concerned: “It has nothing to do with you,” he said. I now see that it has everything to do with me, a discovery made only because I was shut down and largely isolated for a year. I’d not have taken time to learn about the Great Migration or “The Warmth of Other Suns” let alone realized the obscenity of the massacre of Tulsa’s Greenwood community.
Besides being a year of discovery about my world, it’s been a year of discovery about myself.
I’ve realized in stark ways that I’ve lived the life of a “people pleaser.” I learned the rules of caring for others very early and I spent a lifetime refining the skills. I was a mother not only for my sons but also for my mother. Then, of course, there were husbands. And others. The idea of boundaries in my relationships was mostly just that: an idea.
During the pandemic’s shut-down, I grew increasingly thankful for relationships that are old but still fresh and magical. My days sparkle when I’m with certain friends. I won’t let these go.
Other relationships I’ve built or inherited aren’t all that healthy. Under the microscope of a year’s time, I saw the impact of not drawing boundaries between Takers and Givers. I’ve so feared hurting the feelings of Takers that I’ve not acted. I’ve made decisions by not deciding; choices by not choosing. I can change this.
I’d always imagined that, were I to live long enough to become a grandmother, my grandchild would call me ”Mimi.” As it turned out, by reading her to sleep at night, I’ve earned a different term of endearment: “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” said as best a one-year-old can say it. A gift of the pandemic was spending less time on airplanes and more in the nursery.
The world really has changed. Many of us learned to cook at home. Some of us discovered the previously unknown joy of solitude. Millions of workers who served well from home aren’t eager to return to the office, and companies paying high rent for empty office space agree. Corporate boards are being asked (forced?) to balance the demand for profit with calls for equity and justice. It all has a new ring to it. Even if the news is still the news, there’s fresh dignity in the White House. It’s real.
And, some things are beyond change. I still won’t be a tall, leggy blonde. But I don’t need to be an automaton going through days shaped by nothing more than habit. I want my thinking and my behavior to change because I’ve not only read Isabel Wilkerson and others; I’ve learned from them. I’m convinced change is possible if I move with both urgency and thoughtfulness.
After a year of wearing masks, a dear friend told me last week that her sense of smell is coming back. Some return to normal would be welcome. But I want not to waste this rare moment by simply “going back to normal.” Post-pandemic, I cannot live an authentic life while pretending that I don’t know (about Greenwood, for example). I need to act in ways consistent with my new knowledge.
I’ll make mistakes; I’ll fail. But so what? As Mary Tyler Moore encouraged us some years ago: “Make mistakes. That’s how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.”
I’m going to dump my masks and try practicing a little bravery.
