An artist friend recently shared a 3-d work of art she called “Covid Chrysalis”. And as I was thinking about starting to share my art and my life again and how to share my feelings about where I’m at I thought that was a pretty good metaphor.
In a lot of ways, I feel like I’ve been wrapped up, trying to stay safe and survive in this cocoon for the last year. I’m just now feeling like I can poke my head out and live a little normal again. The question is how have I transformed, right?
The last year and a half was a lot for me–as it was for many people. And overall, I had it pretty dang easy which makes me incredibly grateful. This pandemic started with an assumption that we’d take a break for 2 weeks and then everything would be fine. Well, somewhere around that two-week mark we were still waiting to get back to normal, that was school for me (I’m a teacher in the real world). I was simultaneously navigating a new relationship, and then a broken collar bone (his not mine), plus surgery and all that entailed. Then an accidental new living situation and still no school, no routine, questions about what school should look like–me wondering “where did my students go?” They were not responding and yet for some insane reason, I’m still supposed to communicate with them daily and document it and call their parents if they aren’t responding and doing the work which DOESN’T EVEN MATTER AT THIS POINT! (Insanity! It was insanity)
And then the pandemic was still going on and a CrAzY election. I’m still in uncharted relationship territory–though that has actually been quite nice. Then the new school year started and we just weren’t prepared. For the workload, for the uncertainty, for the stress and frustration. And then it never really got normal. A year and then some later it’s just now kind of back to normal, but still not quite the same.
Amid all of this, I’m questioning and learning and trying to figure out all the things. About my faith, about what I want, about the role I’ve played in the world and all of its screwed-upness. And then to try to figure out how do I stand in front of a bunch of kids every day and support them in all of that same shit.
I’m grateful for the space to breathe right now because the last couple of weeks have finally felt like that. Space to discover and breathe. And room for a little mourning, too.
Along with the rest of the world, I feel like I lost a lot of time the last year and a half. It’s going to be 2022 in just a couple of months and I still feel like it should be 2019. I retreated into myself, and my family when I could, but mostly into whatever safe space I could find. I focused on what NEEDED to get done and tried to do it the best I could.
I paired down my life, my commitments, and I retreated. I made a cocoon of my space. As a true introvert, it was (is?) heaven. Until it’s not. As I poke my head out of this cocoon to take in the fresh air and to stretch these wings I’ve been working on for the past little bit I feel a little lost.
Taking things slow is very counter to what I was used to not only in pre-pandemic life but pre-World Race life, too. When I take stock of where I am, and potentially where I’m going, I’m happy and content. But I miss the community that I had. I miss a lot about my life before.
In short, I suppose it’s been a long 3+ years of transition and learning and growing. Of figuring out, and screwing up, and figuring it out again. It’s been a few years of humility, an area that I still have so much room to grow.
I’m looking forward to refocusing. To share again. To move forward and create new goals and create new things. And while I’m figuring it out–imperfectly–feel free to stop in every now and again and see how it’s going and see what I’m creating.
My hope in rekindling this blog, this space, is to inspire and encourage you to create in your life as well.
Paint on the Desks 