At the beginning of 2020, I fixed my gaze on my kids and my career. I knew intuitively that this would not be my year for fun or adventure or even a great deal of personal growth, and I was fine with that.

I set my intentions for the year based on my values. I didn’t want to simply “spend time” with my kids – I wanted them to feel seen, heard, valued, and loved. On the tail end of having kids still living at home, I wanted to be fully present with them.

And I didn’t want to just meet specific work goals, I wanted to exceed them. It all felt just right for me. While the year did provide ample opportunities for working, meaningful conversations, and great memory making with my kids, there were a few unexpected lessons along the way – and it all ended up being quite an adventure in balance, acceptance, and grace.

(In true 2020 fashion, this post is long, rambling, and disjointed. And it’s likely I am the only beneficiary of hitting “publish” for this one. This blog for me is usually nothing more than that, with a “maybe you, too…” tacked on the end. All of these lessons were – at one point – full posts on their own, but by the time I worked up the gumption to open my computer, the words had departed.)

balance.

I found the balance that had eluded me my whole life this year (thanks, quarantine), and learned that the best thing I can do at the end of a productive day is close my computer and do anything else. My unexpected and spontaneous trip to northern Georgia helped me realize how much I really do need (like really actually need, not just prefer) uninterrupted periods of solitude. (I pray that the people I love don’t take it personally, because it has nothing to do with them.) July found me utterly depleted; ten days in the mountains restored my soul enough to carry me through to this moment. It was the longest stretch of time I’ve ever spent alone – my mind, body, and spirit were divinely connected. It was magical.

chill.

As an oldest child, a Scorpio, and an Enneagram 5, I am not as “chill” as I would like to be. This was the year I stopped pretending that I was, and I also stopped shaming myself for it. While I consistently practice holding things loosely – people, plans, and ideas especially – I do not flit about blissfully unattached to clean countertops and locked doors. In the spring and summer, I cared very much that everyone removed their shoes and washed their hands when they came home. (I still care, but not on the same level that I did then – please don’t judge me.) I don’t like to be late. Please shut the refrigerator door if you’re not actively pulling something out. And sorry but no, we’re not going to do a load of laundry for a single pair of jeans, and please don’t put my yoga pants or sports bras in the dryer. I have little to no chill about such things. The chaos of Christmas gave me the opportunity to offer myself gentle reminders on the impermanence of messiness, and that there is beauty in both chaos and order, even when I would prefer the latter. Inhale for eight, hold for four, exhale for eight, when unexpected out-of-state visitors arrive…and remind myself that no one gives a shit about my countertops or the piles of cardboard boxes sitting around. (I know this to be true, because I don’t give a shit about anyone else’s countertops or the state of their home in general.) Our welcomed guests weren’t here for any of that, and they weren’t judging me either.

muscle memory.

I sat down at the piano for the first time in weeks yesterday, and experienced (for the hundredth time in the last nine months) the sheer force of muscle memory. In the same way it carried my fingers across the keys, it carried me through the bulk of 2020 – make my to-do list, prioritize the tasks, and work my way through – but the power of it… fucking unreal. With a fair amount of regret at the amount of time that had passed since I played the instrument I love, my fingers knew how to move, my eyes remembered how quickly to track the music, and my foot remembered how long to linger on the sustain pedal – in the same way that I knew that Mondays – Fridays were for working, even when my feelings disagreed. I expended a lot of energy beating myself up for my lack of motivation this year. I didn’t want to just DO all the things, I wanted to FEEL like doing all the things. That was a luxury that 2020 would not provide.

embodiment.

In my pursuit to gain a deeper level of embodiment, I officially gave up running, because I can’t find any balance with it, and also I hate it. Why can’t I downshift to walking when my hip is screaming at me? I don’t know, and I finally exhausted myself trying to figure it out. So I accepted that this is an area in which balance might be beyond me. I swapped running for a stationary bike. Which I also spend the first ten minutes loathing, but eventually find a rhythm…and I’m able to listen to (and honor) my body in a more compassionate way. There are healthier ways to pursue embodiment than feeling and pushing through physical pain.

injustice.

The issues of injustice that were brought to the forefront this year taught me that I have so much to learn. As a gender-conforming, able-bodied, white woman, I have work to do. This does not diminish my own struggles, trauma, or loss. January 20 is quickly approaching (praise be!), and there will still be much work to do. (I feel woefully ill-equipped to say more, but the resources are out there and they are absolutely worth the time.)

feedback.

I learned the phrase, “I am not requesting feedback,” and how did I not know this was a thing? An absolute game changer. One of my longest-standing and dearest friends consistently asks me, “are you wanting feedback?” when I call her to vent/whine/complain, and sometimes I’m not. It feels so safe to say “no” when I’m asked the question. But anyone can say this phrase to anyone as soon as (or even BEFORE) the unsolicited and/or unwanted advice begins. Sometimes I really want advice because this is how we learn new things and grow, and sometimes I just need someone to sit with me and bear witness to my struggle. (Is this not what it means to hold space well – to prioritize the needs of another over what your ego might prefer to offer? I think it is.)

stress responses.

My process for coping with stressful situations is what it is right now, and that’s ok. When faced with back-to-back car-related issues, both of which required a tow truck, I realized that my problem-solving process looks like this:

  1. Denial – Focused and annoyed, I believe I can fix this entirely on my own. Let me just Google it really quickly or call my dad, even though he’s a thousand miles away.
  2. Acceptance – I am not an auto mechanic, and diagnosing the problem does not solve the problem.
  3. Execute the game plan – Even if I know what the issue is (and I did, in fact, both times), I do not have the physical or intellectual resources to fix it, so let’s call AAA.

This is my automatic response to car trouble, and I could easily change it if I wanted by calling AAA straightaway. Similarly, but minus the easy change, my body’s response to any perceived threat is based on past trauma, and it is also automatic. There is nothing wrong with me – so I can stop asking myself, “What is wrong with you?” My body is simply responding in the best way she knows to ensure my survival. What a gift it was to learn this, and what a gift it is to know that I can thank my body for this response and work with her, instead of piling on shame. Also, language matters, and I learned to use the phrase “activated” instead of “triggered” when I’m feeling emotionally-charged, and not actually triggered. (I do know what it means to be emotionally activated and triggered, and they are very different and distinct experiences. They deserve their own words.) I’d love to see 2021 be the year that we stop using clinical diagnoses to describe challenging circumstances and unwanted behavior – PTSD, OCD, bipolar, etc. Language – while still limited when describing the full depth of the human experience – is vast. I’ve misused these words, too, but I’m working on being more mindful. I desperately want to use my words more accurately – and in a way that honors others.

better questions.

When checking in with the people I care about, I noticed the unique distinction between the questions, “You doing ok?” and “How are you?” on both ends. “You doing ok?” carries with it an acknowledgement that all is not going the way one would like it to go. “How are you?” is much more vague. 2020 was filled with lots of, “You doing OK?” I still miss the mark when it comes to reaching out – unless thinking about someone counts – but I’m trying to ask better questions.

when things stop working.

Things work until they don’t…I’ve known this for awhile. But 2020 reiterated this one over and over. Dance party weekends with all four kids were fun until they weren’t, and puzzles were entertaining until they were boring. We were “Extra Grace Required,” this year, and we learned to communicate that directly to each other. And we learned to be gentler with ourselves, too. The teasing and joking that worked before didn’t work anymore, because we were all a bit more tender. My kids taught me SO much this year – watching them resolve conflict before resentment settles in and takes hold will forever be one of my greatest gifts. I also fixed my own washing machine (thanks, YouTube) on the second-to-last night of the year – a real buzzer-beating win for all of us.

happiness.

“Yes, but are you happy?”  Someone asked me this question a couple of months ago, and it stayed with me for weeks. What does that even mean? I fumbled the response by offering a monologue about cultivating gratitude, tempering expectations, and the beauty of contentment. I said that being happy was much like being in love – a temporary and fleeting feeling with no roots to it, incapable on its own of weathering any significant storms. And while I meant everything I said, I ruminated on the question for a long while. I absolutely have moments of feeling overwhelmed by a “this is what heaven must be like,” amount of joy. But “happy” is probably not my general state of being. I’m more of an “existential angst” sprinkled with generous amounts of contentment kind of person. I’m learning to accept that part of myself, too, and balance it out by leaning in to the things that I enjoy. (On that note, I’d like to point out that “fun” is very subjective and deeply personal.) I would like to be happier, but I don’t really know what that means and I refuse to chase an unattainable expectation that isn’t even real.

All of this acceptance is not a pass – I want to do and be better for the people I care about in 2021. I’d like to be more observant, thoughtful, responsive, and encouraging. I have some personal issues that I’m not quite ready to tackle; but they are increasingly annoying, mostly because I feel entitled to hang onto them and I don’t like that. As soon as it is safe to do so, I’d like to spend less time in my head and more time engaging with other human beings. I need to reconcile some things and let go of others. I want to show up – engaged and grounded – to whatever life brings this year.

Accepting things as they are does not mean there’s nothing more I can do. At the same time, I can trust that the things I need to learn will find me this year…just as they did last year.

I don’t feel quite ready for the new year, but I always have everything I need when I need it – and I’m at the starting block with more balance, acceptance, and grace than I had before. And for that, I am truly grateful as I bid 2020 farewell.