This is how you do it.
Today, the big Day After “the most consequential election in our lifetimes” (as so many pundits contended) was an interesting day to have a writing practices class. With the results still in limbo, I had no idea if I’d be able to concentrate. Laura, our wise teacher, gave prompts designed to allow us to process our anxiety. To focus on what we can do, not on what we can’t do or control. To remember that sometimes the rituals, the small joys of life can be truly nurturing, especially in times of uncertainty. To harness our energy for good.
The prompt:
At this time, when the news is bad and so much is at stake, what can you do to strengthen your resilience, courage, humility and generosity of spirit?
The assignment:
Answer the question, using the phrase “This is how you do it” at the beginning of each paragraph. End with the same phrase.
My response:
This is how you do it. You look around to see which charity or cause speaks to you the loudest. You decide without regret or “oh I should have chosen B instead.” You make a concrete plan to become involved. If the charity of choice is Loaves and Fishes, a local soup kitchen, you sign up to attend their upcoming Gala. You bid on items offered in their silent auction. You reach out to the director (who you’ve already met) and ask if there is somewhere in her organization that where your skills can be used. This is how you will feel that you are making even a tiny contribution to Tikkun Olam, the Jewish commandment of repairing the world.
This is how you do it. You change your clothes to get dirty and you collect your tools, the small hand rake, the trowel, the gardening gloves. You load them into the green wheelbarrow and you roll it out to the vegetable beds. You decide which of the remaining, dying tomato plants can stay in the ground for another few days and which should be retired for the season. You pull up the plants that didn’t make the cut, shake off the dirt clinging to the roots and put them in the green wheelbarrow. You sift through the now cleared dirt, turning the soil to remove weeds and any remaining, obsolete root systems. You dig two three-foot long trenches and scatter your carrot seeds in the trenches, then cover the seedlings with soil. You assemble your new veggie-bed protective tent your ordered from Gardener’s Supply and place it over the seedlings so the bunnies that live in your bushes don’t feast on the young shoots like they did two weeks ago after your previous attempt at starting a winter garden. Then you water, hope, and wait.
This is how you do it. You go into the settings on your phone, click on Screen Time, then App Limits. You click on Social, then Facebook. You choose two minutes, the amount of time that will elapse before a notification will appear telling you that your time is up. You remind yourself that – though there is joy, connection and positivity available there as well, you’ve just seen The Social Dilemma and are brutally aware that you are being manipulated. You do it because you are aware that scrolling through your feed can feed your anxiety and fan the flames of despair. You give yourself permission to check the feed twice a day because you own two businesses and Facebook is a marketing and publicity tool after all.
This is how you do it. You draw on the wisdom you gained from the dreadful period after your first husband’s plane crash and resulting traumatic brain injury. You re-commit to the philosophy that got you through those awful days, months, years: One day at a time. You try not to be lured by its evil twin, We’re all fucked. Instead you say: We are ok. I am resilient. What can I do today to make a difference in my world and the greater community?
This is how you do it.
How do you do it?