Chasing Memories

My husband and I cuddle close on the king size bed with freshly pressed white sheets, and a fluffy down comforter. The warm, salty air swirls around us and rustles the sheer curtains draped around the balcony window. My skin is warm from soaking up the day's sun and my feet ache from the miles walked on the Pacific coast beach. My husband whispers something sweet in my ear and though it is indecipherable over the crashing ocean waves just feet away from where we snuggle, my heart flutters with infatuation. 

I shoot upright in bed and my heart races out of my chest. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I realize I am home in Michigan. The cool air rushes in through the window and my husband lies near me. We haven't traveled in 5 months. We are in quarantine. 

The bass of the music sets the tempo for my heartbeat and the sway of my hips. The cool citrus taste of my vodka soda with lime rushes over my tongue as I take the last sip. The cool New York night air rushes through my long wavy hair as I turn to my friend, K, as we laugh and dance and blow off the inviting glances of two men from the opposite side of the roof top bar. 

I'm covered in sweat and I'm back in my room. I'm shaking from the time hop and crushing reality. It has been more than 2 months since I have hugged a friend or danced in a bar. We are still in quarantine. 

The rickety, spinning ride swoops up and pauses briefly at the top and I catch a quick glimpse of the hundreds of peanut festival goers playfully scattering below. The ride quickly descends and my colleague shrieks with delight. Tears of laughter stream down our faces as the wind whips around us. We return safely to solid ground and laugh until we can't breathe. 

I gasp for air and throw the suffocating covers off of me. My eyes dart quickly around the room. There are no festivals, there is no work travel. We are in quarantine. 

My son rushes toward the water, buckets in one hand, a shovel in the other. He drops to his knees and begins to dig. I smile and  spread a blanket on the sand and open my book. His periodic giggles are my soundtrack. The early morning chill off the Atlantic ocean triggers goosebumps up and down my arms and legs. 

Chills cover my body as I reach for the covers and tuck myself back in from yet another startling wake up into life in quarantine. 

In the daytime, I understand the reality of the pandemic. In the daytime, I can comprehend the new normal. In the daytime, I am grateful for all that we have and avoid clinging to what was. 

But in the nighttime, I chase memories. 

Puzzling

When my 30-year-old sister-in-law died unexpectedly, my husband, son, and I met a few other close family members at a remote lake house in South Carolina where we spread her ashes. We spent a few days there, no cell service, no internet, just us and our feelings.

We found ourselves spending most of our time huddled over a complex jigsaw puzzle. I don't even remember what the image was but I remember how consumed by it I was. We didn't talk, we just worked away at noticing common details in color and line, examining the shape of pieces, and silently delighting when we made a match.

In our current state of quarantine, we again find ourselves drawn to jigsaw puzzles. Things are significantly more chipper than the above mentioned memory but I realized there are some pretty strong parallels.

I found this, well, quite puzzling.

What is it about big feelings and despair that draws me to jigsaw puzzles?

It gives us something to do. A way to pass the time. Helps prevent our minds from lingering on the hurt, confusion, and uncertainty. It requires just enough mental engagement to avoid getting caught in our feelings.

They are predictable. We know how it's going to end. It's going to end how it is supposed to. Complete, with everything in it's place.  it is something can control. We can decide where to start, what to work on next, what to save for last. The end result is the same and we can count on that but we also get to choose how we get there. Quite the opposite when dealing with grief or anxiety or depression.

It requires patience. Despite the control and predictability we are afforded, puzzles also require an immense amount of patience. There is no short cut. There is no way to rush the process. Much like dealing with big emotions. There's no way to jump to the end, we just have to give it time and attention here and there.

How do you spend your time when you're alone with your feelings?

I wish I had your struggle

Remember that saying, "your trash is another person's treasure"? This is true now more than ever. The idea is not that there are a bunch of people waiting to pick through your garbage. It means that something you have right now could be quite valuable to someone else, even if it irks you.

I've been thinking about this a lot as we are quarantined and I'm spending far too much time on social media. Of course people are stressed. Of course it feels good to vent. Of course your feed should be filled with accurate reflections of what you think and how you feel.

But before you publicly post that next complaint, consider this:

• When your kids are driving you crazy because you're all stuck in the house together, someone else wishes they could be at home with their kids. 
• When you dread going to work, someone else wishes they had a job. 
• When you feel cooped up in your house. someone else wishes they had a safe place to stay. 
• When your partner/roommate gets on your nerves, someone else wishes they didn't live alone. 
• When you get annoyed about having to work from home, someone else wishes they had the resources to work from home. 
• When you or your child has to miss their birthday celebration, someone else is dying in a hospital from this virus and will have no more birthdays. 
• When you vent about your vacation getting cancelled and you're forced to stay home, someone else wishes they had the option to stay home and avoid exposure. 
• When you complain about your favorite restaurant being closed, someone else wishes they had enough food. 

This isn't a pompous reminder to be grateful for all you have. Of course you are grateful for what you do have. And you are entitled to feel frustration and temporary disappointment for certain. This is just a gentle caution to consider your audience when you express what irks you right now. Someone might read your struggle and wish it was theirs.