It’s 7am, and I’m sitting in my backyard with a cup of coffee and my computer. The leaves are starting to change, and there’s a chill in the air. My hair is pulled back and still damp from my shower, so there’s a spot on the back of my neck that’s just slightly cooler than the rest of me. I’m wearing my gray crocks; the ones that relieve my foot pain and provide just the right amount of cushioning under my feet. They feel like a guilty pleasure because I only wear them in my house. They’re too ugly to be seen in public, but I love them anyway. I take a sip of my cinnamon coffee and breathe in. The air is cool but heavy. There’s a humidity that reminds me that summer could reappear at any moment. I pull my softest sweatshirt over my hands, slipping my thumbs through the thumb-holes. I love a sweatshirt with thumb-holes, and this recent second-hand find is my new favorite. It’s the softest thing I own… a Patriot’s shirt that’s slightly too big for me, in a cozy, comfortable sort of way. The fit is flattering with leggings or jeans, and it’s the type of quality garment that I rarely invest in at full price. These things go for $50 or more, and I always manage to convince myself that the knockoff $10 t-shirts at the Job Lot are good enough. But this one was $8 at the thrift store, and well-worth every penny.
During these quiet morning moments, I think back to yesterday and plan for today. What’s on the to-do list? How will we sneak in a little fun? Did I work enough yesterday that I can allow myself some down-time today?
I’m not sure if this way of thinking is a product of my culture or my upbringing or my own personality. But I do know that I put a tremendous amount of value on doing. I judge myself (and if I’m honest, my family, too) based on productivity. Did I get enough DONE?
But I’m doing a lot of reading and podcast listening and trying to understand the ways that COVID has changed us. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve changed. Maybe we all have.
And while I can’t entirely shake this productivity mindset, I am starting to see the value in not just doing, but being. I’m becoming more aware of the value in those un-productive moments. Sitting in my yard. Going for a walk. Watching my kids. Plopping on the floor to pet my dog. Baking unnecessary cinnamon buns. Wandering through a thrift shop.
As a teacher during this crazy time, my to-do list is endless and overwhelming. There’s so much to learn about online teaching and learning. There are so many schedule variations to plan for. There is so much legal documentation required. There are important lessons to teach and difficult conversations to navigate.
As a parent, the same is true. There are assignments to be checked and emails to be read and forms to be completed. There are schedules to plan and appointments to make and laundry to be folded. And there are kids who need attention and reassurance and a little tough love.
At any typical time, these jobs can feel like too much. And now? With the enormity of the task? With the impossibility of what we’re being asked to do? Well, I feel like I have two choices. I could drown, thrashing in this flood of unrealistic expectations and impossible asks and exhausting criticisms. Or I could pause and take a breath and remember how to float.
If I focus solely on the doing, I will wind up depleted. I will run out of energy and stamina and optimism. Because there is no finish line. I will never reach the end of this to-do list. I will never be able to do all of these things well, because this is not how these things were ever meant to be done.
I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked before. I’m spending nights and weekends researching and making phone calls and planning and scheduling and updating paperwork. But I know myself. I’ll get caught up in the high of all that doing… I’ll keep working toward some impossible, imaginary finish line. Unless I consciously interrupt the cycle.
So I’m sitting in my backyard with a cup of coffee and my computer, wearing my ugly crocs and my comfy sweatshirt and putting my thoughts down on paper. I’m planning the day so that I can finish the lesson plans and the laundry and also pick pumpkins and watch football and worship online with my family.
There’s no doubt about it… COVID sucks. But sometimes the hardest, suckiest things teach us the most valuable lessons. I’m going to keep trying to learn them; one breath, one walk, one cozy sweatshirt, one cup of coffee at a time.