Make It Make Sense

It is doing that March-weather thing outside today: big, fat snowflakes that dissolve as soon as they hit the pavement.  I gotta admit: there's something sort of joy-inducing about the beauty of these fluffy white blobs descending from the heavens while knowing full well nary a shovel will need to be employed.  Certainly, we're nowhere near the point where we're ready to bust out the beach balls and the swimsuits but we're creeping ever closer to the in-between where those kinds of daydreams drift closer to upcoming reality.

Spring in Ohio, folks.  This is it.

I enjoyed this day from the comfort of my work-from-home setup, a glorious space that I have grown to adore.  It's this funny flip of the script in my life, this capacity to be able to do my job in the same place where I live.  For so much of my adult life, I lived in apartments with one to three other people (and their cats -- their many, many cats) and the thought of work from home not only seemed foreign, it seemed untenable.  Now I'm at a phase in my career and my life where WFH is not only possible, it's preferable.  I live alone now, I have the space, I have the comfort, I have everything I need to create my ideal workspace.  Thanks to my sister-in-law, I have an awesome desk chair and thanks to a friend, I have a fantastic bluetooth speaker, and thanks to me, I have all I need to create those productive vibes.

It's kind of fantastic.

But if someone would have told me ten years ago that I had to work from home, I probably would have panicked.  You expect me to get anything done living with roommates???  Not bloody likely.

Times, they change, though.  And so does what we need out of our lives.

I'm reflecting on this a bit today because we're easing into the Collective Trauma Mode of three years ago when restrictions related to COVID-19 first began.  My Facebook Memories today reminded me that this was the day when Case Western Reserve University let us know that after spring break (which was happening at the time), we would not immediately return to campus but, instead, be remote learners until April 6th.

April 6th, that's cute.

The hindsight and retrospect of all-things COVID-19 will boggle the mind for decades to come.

Certainly for me, living alone and being a grad student during the start of the pandemic (especially during the lockdown phase) was a massive jolt to my extroverted sense of self.  I put on that brave face because we were served everything in increments that felt manageable: a week here, two weeks there, just another month perhaps.  It's like that episode of 30 Rock where Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) is dating an airline pilot played by Matt Damon -- and while stuck on the tarmac, Damon's character keeps announcing it will be "another 30 minutes to takeoff" even though he knows full well it will be hours.  "People can accept 30 minutes," he explained to great comedic effect.

I mean, when Matt Damon is right, he's right.

The pandemic felt a lot like that.

Over time, though, this new-fangled technology called Zoom became easier and more familiar to use and my body collaborated with my brain and my heart to maximize the experience of being more literally alone than I'd ever been in my entire life.  I built routines that included daily walks outside and regular check-ins with friends and family and I leaned hard on my daily writing practice.  

I made it work.

This abnormal, totally uncomfortable, insanely off-brand lifestyle adapted itself to my being with more ease than seems possible.  But that's the human survival instinct.  We can adapt to anything.

I won't say it was all Skittles-Taste-The-Rainbow Vibes exactly, but I did reach points where I not only accepted the solitude without question, I actually coveted it.  I'd feel my joy center start to percolate when I realized it was nearly time for my daily walk.  I felt giddy when first one then many other groundskeepers at Lakeview Cemetery stopped me to ask for my name.  It was like that notion of finding love in a hopeless place -- not romantic love but ethereal, human-connecting love that goes along with the simple care of doing for others, noticing others, that compassionate, kind, acknowledging attitude that we are in this life together.  Not just during a pandemic, but always.

And it was in that space of comfort that the ground beneath me gave way and I fell deep into a healing space where I faced old demons and tended to old scars.  

The astrologer Jessica Lanyadoo often talks in her podcast Ghost of a Podcast (10/10, would recommend) about the intentionality of our humanly choices to be born right now.  This falls under the category of "woo" so hang with me if you're less comfortable in this zone.  What she means is that there is a belief system that says that souls plan their human lives in collaboration both with other souls but also with the time and place where they carry out their karmic lessons.  Jessica will offer this to her listeners often: we chose to be born now, during this era of human history.  If that take appeals to you (as it appeals to me), it can open up a real treasure trove of exploration and wonder.  

For me, it's evident that I selected to be born during this era of human history because it provided a fantastic opportunity to resolve past issues, do some much-needed healing, and dig into the learning that goes along with all of that.  Without the isolation and the forced standstill of life, I simply don't know if I would have ever been in enough silence to hear what the Universe was saying to me.  I needed that distance from the rush of human existence to be still and listen.

What I heard was sometimes very painful or uncomfortable or ugly or brutal.  Elements of my life that I'd never thought about before had space to float to the top -- and coupled with my status as a social work graduate student, I now also had the tools to navigate through what these tough emotions and memories were surfacing for me.  There was simply no excuse to bury or ignore what was piling like a barrier in front of me.  I had to deal with it.

So I dealt with it.

In that way, I have immense gratitude for the experience of being alive during the COVID-19 pandemic.  

Timing, though, is everything, and I thought often during lockdown especially about how different it would be if the global health crisis had happened at all of the different points in my life, ranging from childhood through college through my many phases of Boston life.  While I'm certain I would have adapted and done OK, regardless (Queen of Resilience as I am), there is a sense of poetry that it happened when it did.  My soul was virtually crying out for space to heal -- and that space came.

And I healed.

Now I am in this chapter where I am itching to convert that healing into action.  I want to expand my story and my experience to a beautiful what's-next.  There have been an avalanche of synchronicities defining the last couple of months, especially.  Today alone there have been so many, it's nearly dizzying.  The intricacies of our connected lives and how they play out through the symphony of the Universe is wild to me.  As I was texting about them with a friend today, she wrote, The synchronicities in your life are unbelievable to which I replied, They are mysterious. I hope someday they turn out to be a path to somewhere 💡.

Then into my head popped a phrase another friend of mine re-introduced into my life last weekend: MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.  All week long, I've had immense gratitude for this phrase -- it makes me laugh while simultaneously making me add, but seriously tho.

C'mon, now, Universe, just make it make sense.

I know that I've become especially good at noticing synchronicities because of how deeply I pay attention to things I maybe never noticed before.  It's like a yoga practice in many ways.  All that yoga is asking a body to do is pay attention, to notice the subtleties and, if you do nothing else, breathe.  

Steady cadence.  That's the stabilizer.

As a recovering Try-Hard, it can be very challenging to release the white-knuckle grip of forcing life to reveal itself to you before it's time to do so -- so I am focusing all of my attention on noticing synchronicities without adhering hard and fast labels to them.  

But also?  I am ready for what's next.

Of course, what do I know?  This time three years ago, I was mildly annoyed that the university was "over reacting" to this flu-like virus and stubbornly accepting their two-ish week promise that we'd be "back to normal soon."  

In so many ways, those were simpler times.

But in so many others, my soul has simply outgrown an adherence to who I was back then.  I suppose what I'm actually ready for is this continued opportunity to learn and grow.  What I'm ready for is to understand these signals I'm receiving and apply them to my life in a tangible way.

I'm ready to make it make sense.

Let's see what this changing season brings up next.

2023

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