IN A SLUMP, part II
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My mother at her first wedding (not to my dad :), in 1941, at age 23. She was about the fifth bride to wear that dress, I was the 10th.
As I said in my previous post, I’ve been in a slump. Not feeling much “meaningful intensity*” lately. Slowing down is not my forte but I realize that there is great value in it. I saw a special on James Taylor and he said that he needed to get away, be alone, be bored and even lonely to get his creative juices flowing. That spoke to me because I feel the same way. I kind of feel that after a big project (the latest for me was helping my sister move), when I feel that inevitable let down of “what do I do now?” which is often accompanied by a migraine headache, that the necessary steps to regain equilibrium involve a pretty uncomfortable place. I seem to be forced down a tunnel of sadness, depression and even a bit of hopelessness before I can come into the sunshine again. When I am in that dark, lonely tunnel, I don’t feel confident that I will come out of it any time soon. I’m almost frantic to find some kind of answer and race through, without heeding any warning signs, just to get back to the light. But it doesn’t seem to work that way. At least not for me.
I’ve been meeting with friends via zoom, weekly, throughout this COVID year. This particular group consists of my oldest friends, most since kindergarten! We didn’t stay in such close touch until the pandemic hit. The very weekend Charleston basically closed down, we were to have a weekend reunion here. We try to do it every couple of years. The get together was cancelled but we pivoted to weekly calls. This week, I decided to get super real and tell them about my slump and my yearning for some meaningful intensity.
They thoughtfully listened and gave suggestions. Most of these friends are pretty busy with grandchildren and more on the way or fixing up and selling and buying houses. But they could relate. One encouraged me to pursue something I had found – online tutoring. Learning Partners is dedicated to helping elementary age children become proficient readers. I will start with my tutor tutorial (is that how you say it?) this Tuesday. But another friend suggested I “lean in” to nothingness. The following day, my devotional said this: “Do not bolt into the day like a racehorse suddenly released. Instead, walk purposefully with Me, letting Me direct your course one step at a time.” This helped me calm down a bit. Another devotional in the same week cautioned: “…Your neediness, properly handled, is a link to My Presence. However, there are pitfalls that you must guard against: self-pity, self-preoccupation, giving up.” Uh-oh.
Back to my kindergarten friends, some had to leave the call and it ended with three of us continuing to talk. I was explaining that part of my malaise was assuredly linked to the huge plastic bag of letters my sister was getting ready to throw out that I grabbed. Amidst letters from my mother to her first husband during the war, were a huge number of notes and cards that my sister, brother and I had received when my mother died at age 66 (my age now). I was explaining to these two people who had known me for 61 years, and had known my mother so well, how I had coped when she died. Mama had been my best friend and losing her was devastating. My immediate reaction was to subconsciously expect my husband to fill that Mama-shaped void in me. My mother had made me feel loved no matter what, that I was beautiful and smart and could do absolutely anything I wanted in life. I just had to go out and grab it. That was way too much to ask of a husband.
It took quite a while but something started to take place within me. Here is what I envisioned. As if that hole in me was pie shaped and although no one could fill up that entire pie for me, different people could fill at least a slice or two. My Florida next door neighbor, Bettye, filled not just one but several pieces of the pie. My book club another couple of slices, other close friends another and my bible study friends yet another. Even my sons and wives have taken a slice or two.
This led my friend, Fay, to say that “meaningful intensity” might be the same way. The meaningful intensity of raising children cannot be replaced; it just can’t. But maybe it is like the pie analogy – where bits and pieces can fill it up. Like, taking care and getting to love on grandkids, helping a child to learn to read, writing a blog post that might mirror something that someone else is struggling with.
I think I’ve reached the sunny end of the tunnel. At least for now. And I hope that when that sad feeling envelopes me again and I know it will, I will have learned from this experience and take the opportunity to lean in to the quiet and find what is quietly and patiently waiting there for me to learn.
*I have spoken of “meaningful intensity” before. A therapist I have seen and talked to (for 40 years!) once coined the term to me. See “Meaningful Intensity (and a little Ice Cream)” posted on January 2, 2016.
