I worry a lot. One could say that I worry too much. It’s what I do.
Jamin and I were in Jamaica, in early March, right before “it hit”. At the time, nothing ‘big’ had happened on our side of the world. But I was watching the headlines. I’d spoken to a few doctor friends whom I consider experts, and they also agreed that it was no big deal. I’d broached the topic of travel with friends and family.
“You really need a vacation. You should go. It’s fine.”
The day we arrived, I remember talking to a young woman who worked at the airport. I say young woman out of courtesy but she was in her early twenties, a baby really. When the topic of Coronavirus came up, her eyes were wide with fear. She told me she hadn’t been to work in two weeks, because she was so worried.
I think in that moment, I flailed a bit. I tried in my own way, to encourage her. To ask questions. At home, no one seemed alarmed. I wanted to throw in a silver lining and tell her, this is no big deal, right? I wanted to tell her, You’ll be okay. Instead, I stumbled and awkwardly changed the topic.
I still feel awful about that.
In retrospect, I couldn’t very well make her feel worse. And I couldn’t make things up or presume to begin to understand where she was coming from. But I know now that it wasn’t the best possible response in the moment, coming from my own limited perspective. I was so shocked. One would probably argue I’m entitled and naive. It was the first time I’d seen real concern on the topic, from someone I didn’t even know. Someone who lived in another country and worked really hard as an essential worker in a high-contact area, was fearful. I can’t forget the look in her eyes.
Then it happened. A notification came through to my phone while we sat beachside, four days later letting me know that school had been canceled for the kids. This was two days after Tornadoes ripped through the Nashville area. I’d already called home once in a panic after waking up to the news. I had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t relax, and I just had this ominous feeling.
I think it’s ingrained in us, not to think about the really scary, unknown parts of life. Those are reserved for natural catastrophe movies starring The Rock, or Kate Winslet in a hazmat suit, conveniently contained to the movie theaters for entertainment fodder. We’re so insulated.
I should relax. It’s fine.
If hindsight is 2020, I can’t say this year has done much for my personal anxiety, or programing myself to ignore it.
And if 2020 is a wave, I was body surfing with high hopes. The wind in my hair, sun on my shoulders, it chewed me up and spit me out sideways. I’m coughing up saltwater with seaweed in my hair and sand in my bum. There’s definitely an awkward moment of lady bits exposed, and it’s not pretty.
That escalated quickly.
I had good intentions, to really sit down and reflect on what I’ve learned this year. I wanted to try to sort the tangle of confusing emotions and teaching moments from unhealthy coping mechanisms, like eating my feelings, and too many true crime podcasts. I really want to try to make sense of it all.
But I keep going back to that woman in the airport. And that fear in her eyes.
That moment taught me so much about my own limited perspective, and I didn’t even know yet.
If I could go back, I would absolutely apologize.
If I could go back, I would do it all differently.
2020 asked us to pivot in ways we couldn’t imagine. I made mistakes. I took losses as a small business. I faced challenging moments as a parent. I absolutely failed. Every tiny decision weighed me down. I know that these are the tiniest of things compared to what others have lost. I’m also not going to minimize it, or list all my experiences. We get it. We’ve all struggled in our own way. I think it’s important to acknowledge that.
I’ve done the best I can.
I’ve also readjusted my perspective, and I’m learning every day, with an open heart. I’m searching for ways that I can help others in need, thinking beyond myself. I’m seeking the tiny, seemingly insignificant moments that seem mundane, but really are so very fleeting. I’m watching the ways in which our children are so resilient, and I’m trying to relish it. I’m loving life and living it anyway, right through the struggles and imperfections and growth.
I know we’re all ready to boot 2020 out the window, and say hello to 2021.
I want to tread lightly.
I want to listen to what it has to say.
I want to focus on the good.
This is the year I was humbled. This is the year I was grateful. This is the year I learned.
This year.
Here’s to a brighter next year, and growing more, along the way.
Photos by the ever-talented Light by Iris photography. {Nashville + Austin} Check her out here!
Marsha Gibbons says
Beautiful post. Thank you.
Erica M says
❤️
Anna says
Beautiful. Thank you so much.