An Antidote to Doing Too Much

I entered the day with energy and eagerness. And a long list of tasks I intended to accomplish.

I ended the day spent and undone.

In-between those two points I had
             * Done the laundry
             * Changed our bed
             * Baked banana bread
             * Ironed for almost two hours
             * Finished writing my blog post for the next day
             * Gone for a walk
             * Whittled 100 emails down to around 30
             * Filled out some forms for my Dad's estate
             * Fixed dinner. 

AND I had a ZOOM meeting with two of my writing friends. 

As I moved through the day, I wasn't aware of trying to do too much. I didn't realize I was unraveling as I moved doggedly from one task to another. While cleaning strawberries for our evening meal, however, I felt itchy and unsettled. All I could see were crumbs on the kitchen floor and windows that needed to be washed. At the same time I thought about all the writing I wasn't doing and all the writing I want to do and all the other projects and ideas left hanging undone. My mind was whirling. 

Clearly, it was time to retreat. 

Remember, Nancy, I told myself, your father died not quite three weeks ago and for several weeks before that he was your whole focus.

Remember, Nancy, this is a challenging time for everyone. We are all trying to figure out how to best live and how to be our best selves during this pandemic.

Remember, Nancy, you are 72, not 52 or even 62. You are healthy and strong, but...

Remember, Nancy, no one is demanding anything from you. No one is threatening to fire you, if you don't finish your daily list. The list is yours alone. 

Instead, Nancy, this is a time to rest in the spiritual practices that sustain and ground you. This is a time to pay attention not only to your spirit, but your mind and body, too. 

The next morning, after morning meditation time, I created my list for the day, just like I always do, but this time I crossed off a couple items. They can wait, I told myself, and instead, I wrote down, "Spend the afternoon in Paris." 

And that's what I did. To be truthful, I brought my laptop with me and wrote some emails, but only ones to friends--my half of a good chat. Mainly, however, I read. I read for pure pleasure, and coincidentally, or not, the novel is called The Year of Pleasures by Elizabeth Berg. Of course, it was just what I needed to read, for the main character is grieving. Her husband has died and the book is about her steps forward. The author reflects in the narration that as we grieve we may find ourselves, "holding things at bay, resisting a great force bearing down. Every now and then it broke through."

I feel the loss of my father deeply, even though we had time to prepare and even though at 96, he was ready and clearly, it was time. I don't feel a need to heal, for I don't feel wounded or broken, but I do need time to adjust. Just as we all need time to adjust to the changes this pandemic has wrought in our lives and will continue to cause. 

One of the books from my personal library that I am re-reading is Good Grief, Healing Through the Shadow of Loss by Deborah Morris Coryell. I first read this profound book after my mother died in 2013. It was helpful then, but even more so now. More than likely, I will quote from this book in future posts, but today it is this sentence that really resonates with me,

        We are weaving this loss into the tapestry of our lives...
                                                       p. 101

The loss of my father is obvious, but I am aware of other losses attached to this time, and I am aware of losses many of you are experiencing, so here is what I say to us all. 

Weaving takes time and attention and patience. This is a time to stay alert, but in a gentle way.

This is a time to shelter in your own Paris. 

An Invitation
What is your antidote to doing too much or to feeling overwhelmed? I would love to know. 

NOTE: I wrote this post before learning about the shocking killing of George Floyd in our community. I intend to offer my reflections about this tragic action soon. My heart aches for Floyd's family.