Hey there – it has been a long time, hasn’t it?
A long time of waiting for the world to really feel safe again.
A long time of shifting and flexing plans.
A long time of celebrating the small joys.
For me, it’s also been a long time since I felt that familiar spark of creativity and urge to write.
The desire to write was there, deep down, or rather the desire to be filled with so much joy and awe that I felt compelled to create and share my joy with anyone that wanted to join in. Processing the thoughts swirling around in my brain, and appreciating small joyful moments in my own life, proved to be more challenging than it had ever been.
While a calendar might say it’s been almost two years since this pandemic changed so many aspects of our lives, to me it feels more like a decade has passed since early 2020. When I started this blog back in Houston, it was born from a desire to create a space where I could share little pieces of joy, a byproduct being that through writing, I could also reflect on where I was in my life and the direction I was headed in.
The process of reflection, and writing, had always been cathartic for me and words often flowed easily. But 2020 stopped me in my tracks.
I couldn’t quite find the words I needed to share joy here when in my own life, the moments felt fleeting – always slipping through my fingers before I could grab them. The world seemed to be crumbling around us while upsetting news continued to bombard us.
A couple months ago, I scrolled through old notes on my phone – random collections of quotes I read, podcasts I listened to, and moments that made me smile. The notes app on my phone has always been soft landing for the ideas that pop into my head unannounced.
With time, these seemingly unconnected musings always their way to each other and spur insights that help me make sense of the world around me. For the last couple years though, they sat idle, collecting dust in the dark corners of my phone memory.
As the end of 2021 approached, I could feel the familiar tug to sift through my musings, seeking out the bright spots of these past couple years. So here it is – a return to a place that brings me so much joy (and hopefully a soft landing for your own thoughts).
As I read through the moments I captured and attempted to process the experience of living through 2020 (and 2021), so many emotions come bubbling to the surface along with a question.
How are you, really?
Such a simple question, but one that held more weight this year than any other.
Let me back up.
Back in the spring of 2020, I moved on two-day’s notice. Scrolling through apartment listings without any real desire or need to relocate, a small one bedroom caught my eye. Steps away from Green Lake with a large balcony overlooking the lake and Mt. Rainier, I thought it was love at first sight – an outdoor oasis in the middle of city in lockdown.
To be frank, I honestly had no real intention to move as I clicked through listings. But with a one-year lease expiring and the chance to have outdoor space that I so desperately craved, I applied for the apartment, signed a lease, hired movers, and packed all within the span of about three days. Looking back, I wonder if I desperately wanted a project to occupy my mind.
Looking back over a year later, the move taught me two very important lessons.
#1 REALLY think about non-negotiables before moving into a new space on a moment’s notice. Perhaps consider the benefits of natural light, at least one WINDOW in the bedroom, and square footage that actually fits all the furniture (just to name a few).
#2 Spontaneous changes can be exciting and fun, but if it’s not the right move, don’t be too proud or stubborn to make a change, again. Cue the summer of 2021 – and my decision to move, again!
While the lack of sunshine (and air flow) was frustrating, it wasn’t the only thing that prompted yet another move across the city.
If there was a word to sum of 2020, I would choose the word STUCK.
STUCK inside, STUCK in place, and STUCK with my own thoughts.
If there is a word to sum up 2021 and 2022 so far, I choose GROWTH.
When we’re kids, it’s easy to measure growth. How many new words can you spell? How are your reading skills developing? A yearly check-up even quantifies how many inches you’ve stretched in a year.
As adults, we can look to promotions or job changes as measures of professional growth. But growing into a better human? A more complete version of ourselves? Growing into the person we want to be? A bit harder to measure.
Early in 2021 I bought a monstera plant. Still hoping to brighten my nearly window-less apartment I opted to buy some greenery. To my surprise, the plant started sprouting new leaves almost immediately. Waking up and seeing a new leaf that unfurled felt like opening a present – who knew seeing a fresh little leaf would fill me with so much joy.
As the year passed by, my monstera grew and grew – at times I couldn’t quite tell which direction it was headed in or if it was a happy and healthy plant. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was growing and changing. Sometimes the leaves would droop or turn the opposite way and I would frantically try to rotate it or stake the leaves, hoping to support it and not stifle its growth.
Today my Monstera plant is not only alive and well, but it’s nearly double the size it was when I first brought it home. While watching the plant grow was stressful at times – and I couldn’t quite see what direction the plant would take– the growth was still happening each and everyday. Last week I even repotted the plant, after noticing its roots poking out through the bottom. In just a year, it had outgrown the container it was in.
It wasn’t apparent at the time, and even reflecting on the ridiculousness of it makes me smile, but I felt a lot like a monstera plant in 2021. Changing, growing, and reaching for sunshine, not really sure what the outcome would look like. Growth happens every day whether we’re paying attention or not. And just like my plant, growth isn’t always linear.
July 2020: sitting on the shores of Green Lake, trying to quell my anxiety
Sitting on the edge of a lake, surrounded by joggers whizzing by, I smiled as I watched a group of geese – their little tails popping up as they submerged their heads and necks in search of a snack underwater. Little goose butts? This is what makes me smile? What has quarantine done to me?
As I sat within inches of geese poop, I tried to squash the uncomfortable feelings that kept coming up. The deep ache for normalcy and a wish that the loneliness would subside, even just for a moment. The yoga teacher in me whispering “Sit with it. Feel everything. Cry if you want to” but every other cell in my body was screaming DISTRACT YOURSELF.
2020 tested my spirit unlike anything else. If you’re nodding your head in agreement- I feel you. For a while, I woke up without a strong desire to get up and do anything. And for someone who had grown used to positive energy running in their veins, I felt like I had lost my positivity and with it a sense of the very thing that makes me feel like “me.”
Early on in “quarantine” I read an article that coined this period of time The Great Pause. Stuck at home and stuck indoors – the quiet was deafening. If quarantine has taught me anything, it’s that even with the grandest plans the universe will hurl whatever it wants. I wish I had adapted to this realization gracefully, but it took this past year to really teach me that growth is very often paired with discomfort.
For most of 2020, I didn’t want to accept that nothing was in my control. The most ironic part is that as human beings we are never really in control – even when we think we are. We can control our responses, but even initial or gut reactions aren’t things we can easily control.
Before 2020, I had bought into this illusion of control. Work hard enough and you can control what kind of job you have, run hard enough and you can control how fast you race, love hard enough and you can control if someone loves you back. But try as I might, the pandemic was so completely out of my control it turned this entire philosophy on its head.
Accepting that life looks different right now isn’t giving in.
Accepting that I’m not in control isn’t giving up.
Surrendering and inviting the grief in is hard, but that’s where the growth starts.
Work hard even knowing that the outcome isn’t guaranteed. Run hard even though it might pour on race day, or you might not even toe the line due to injury or unforeseen circumstances, love with your whole heart because there is simply no other way to love someone. The beauty is the growth that happens in between and the relief that comes with accepting that a life well-lived isn’t without detours, rejections, or discomfort.
As I sat on the edge of Green Lake, thinking about how out of whack the universe is, I looked up and saw a full rainbow stretching across the sky.
Even if I can’t control anything, I can notice the beauty of what’s around me right now and appreciate it when I see it.
Fast forward: July 2021
After a year living in what I thought was my dream apartment, I needed a change. A year spent stuck in a windowless bedroom, a combined living room/kitchen/home office with a job that I had outgrown, suffocated by four walls that reminded me too much of quarantine – I needed a new space.
This time, deciding to move wasn’t as impulsive and gave me much more time to plan. The first step – find boxes.
I typed in quick search on Craigslist for “moving boxes” and started scrolling through listings. As luck would have it, there was a new post for 50+ boxes north of the city ready to be picked up whenever. Excited at the thought of so many free boxes I quickly replied and within minutes had a date and time scheduled for a pickup. It seemed too good to be true.
A week or so later I flattened the back seats in my Subaru and made my way north. When I pulled up, I was greeted with a smile by a woman waving as I pulled into the driveway.
I had trouble expressing how grateful I was for her generosity – thank you didn’t seem sufficient. She shared that they had recently moved, and the boxes were gently used – she hoped that someone might be able to reuse them – with the hope of being a bit kinder to the planet.
Even though we had known each other for a total of five minutes, when she asked if I was moving far, I told her that I was moving to a different neighborhood mostly because I needed a new space. For a year I spent my time holed up in an apartment feeling anxious and stuck, and with summer coming and a new job on the horizon I wanted new energy. It seemed like a ridiculous answer to her question, but she nodded her head.
“I completely understand – this year has been so challenging. We’re all experiencing a collective grief and we’re not equipped to deal with it. I hope that your new place is a breath of fresh air.”
For a stranger I just met, I felt both seen and understood. She gets it I thought. While I don’t remember her name, I will remember how Generous Craiglist Box Lady made me feel – that my suffering is no worse or better than anyone– and I’m not alone. Neither are you.
While 2020 froze me in place and gave me the gift of reflection, 2021 invited me to dig deep and find the strength to pick my path – an invitation to move through discomfort in the constant pursuit of joy.
Dearest 2021,
Thank you for giving me hope.
Thank you for showing me that suffering is also something that connects us as humans.
Thank you for showing me the power of manifestation and the power of believing in myself.
Thank you for restoring my faith in trusting the process.
Thank you for opening my heart to redirection.
Thank you for the chance to be brave and take a leap.
Thank you for the strength to get un-STUCK, showing me that GROWTH is always worth it, and change IS good.
Sending endless love and light.
Marissa
