The past 10 days
This is the first time I’ve written a post in 10 days, which feels strange to me, but also completely fine. I’m in a place where I’m not feeling compelled to analyze everything. I am working on being more present, more future, less past. I’m trying to let go of the “shoulds”—I should be writing, I should try to workout again, I should read these four books about Enneagrams that are in my queue but I really don’t want to. I didn’t feel like I needed to post, so I didn’t.
But I did need to do other things.
In case you missed it, the Supreme Court seemingly decided that a woman has less autonomy over her body than a corpse. I was outraged and fueled by adrenaline, and felt like I needed to speak up. I led conversations about it within my agency, and wrote op-eds about it in the media. But I think I inadvertently centered my own voice instead of those who will be most affected by this inhumanity. I am white, and well paid, and have two kids, and a husband with a vasectomy. I can amplify the fight, but it is not mine to lead.
I felt like I needed to read “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl, after one of his most famous quotes kept popping up in multiple parts of my life: “Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” These words speak to me on so may levels. Emotionally, spiritually, cognitively. But also Jewishly. As the granddaughter of a young woman who left her parents in Poland, and emigrated to the US before WWII, I have always been fascinated by Holocaust stories—both those of survival, and those of death. Those of response, and those of resignation. There were so many atrocities, and so much suffering, that it’s almost beyond comprehension. It’s our responsibility to comprehend so that it never happens again. Except, that it still keeps happening.
I was tired on Wednesday. But rather than medicating myself with another cup of coffee, I decided to listen to what my body really needed: a nap. It was only 22 minutes long, the duration of my favorite Yoga Nidra meditation. I didn’t feel guilty when I woke up, but I also didn’t feel rested. I think I need to make more time for naps during the day. But they need to be for longer than 22 minutes.
I listened to Chanel Miller speak on one of my favorite podcasts, “We Can Do Hard Things,” and was immediately captivated. I new her name, the true identity of Emily Doe, but I only partially knew her story. Her grace and vulnerability on the episode drew me in, so I needed to picked up her memoir. I’m currently on Chapter 3, and with every page, I am being transformed by her words. I am being gutted by her honesty. I am bearing witness to her experience. I feel like I need to keep reading, for her, for me. So I am.
This past weekend was Mothers’ Day, and my husband bought me a robot vacuum—the one I’d been pining for since it went on sale last November, but never bought for myself because, well, it just seemed indulgent. My new toy/appliance/electronic family member has orange and blue blinking lights, and a monotone female voice that lets me know when it gets stuck under the couch, or needs to be recharged. I named it Eugene. It will now be the keeper of the main floor of our house, tasked with picking up all the floating fur from two cats and a dog, along with cereal crumbs and a healthy dose of pine straw from the front yard. I suppose I didn’t really need Eugene, but I’m happy he’s here.
Today, I guess, I didn’t really need to write this, either. But there’s something about this feeling of “not-needing” that’s foreign to me, and writing is the best way I know how to process it.
So maybe I did need to write this. But only because I wanted to.