It’s a weird season. Time itself has become a strange phenomenon – more relative, more subjective, and both more and less significant.

Everything has slowed as we find ourselves collectively and individually stumbling around in the dark, looking for a new normal. Fear and hope can exist at the same time – as can science and spirituality. I just have to hold it all loosely – and if there has ever been a time to hold things loosely, it’s right now.

This is hard for everyone – in different ways and for different reasons. Some of us are incredibly lonely, and some of us would give almost anything for a few hours alone. There’s no shortage of opinions, misinformation is abundant, people are dying, and it’s difficult to make sense of the paradoxical nature of things.

For my own mental health, I find myself needing to stay really, REALLY present. It is not good for me to try and figure out what could happen next or what “normal” might look like in six months. I am not a natural “embracer” of the unknown, and I’m not that keen on change either. Several times a day I have to ask myself, “what is actually happening, right now?” And then I answer that question with what my reality is in that given moment and that moment only. (e.g. I am standing in the sun with a cup of tea in my hand. The people in my circle are healthy and safe. I have work to do, and I am loved. I have the food, water, shelter, and toilet paper I need to make it to tomorrow. )

That’s as far as I can go most days.

The Universe - a generous gift giver.

*  Friends, do not get hung up on my use of the word Universe to describe a higher power. "God," worked for me as a label until it didn't. Too small and restrictive for my ever-expanding faith, I needed something different. Language is just our way of labeling and ordering things. God/Universe/Creator/Source - they're all just labels.

I'm not a fan of stereotypical puzzles. Cabins, horses, fish, and fireplaces do not make me excited, and if I'm going to work toward piecing together a scene for 5+ hours (or any number of hours), the scene needs to hold my attention. One week into the quarantine, we had already been to Target for puzzles, so I was not feeling optimistic when we headed there again.

The Universe, with her individualized love and humor, had left me a gift. Facing outward and perfectly eye level was the most beautiful collection of 1000 small cardboard cutouts that I'd ever seen. Not only was it square (my favorite shape), it was an abstract representation of the 2017 Women's March on Washington - brightly colored with myriad faces and slogans - "Love is Love," and "Diversity Makes America Great," and "Hate has no Home Here," and (my favorite) "Make America Think Again."

It also featured this Gloria Steinem quote along the border:

We are linked. We are not ranked and this is a day that will change us forever. Because we are together, each of us individually and collectively will never be the same again.

It was gloriously perfect. And it looked super easy - a bonus, since my participation in completing puzzles had been minimal up to this point.

Inner Chatter - an annoying nemesis.

Ok, so it turns out that this puzzle was hard as hell. The slogans were easy, but all the other pieces had to be located on the paper and placed individually on the table. There was no way to sort or organize any of it. It was grueling. The kids would try to help, but would quickly offer their apologies and leave..."Sorry, mom. This is a crazy-hard puzzle."

It was so hard that it wasn't even fun. It was so hard that I thought it might actually be impossible. It was so hard that I convinced myself that the same man who invented the mammogram had also designed this puzzle. Because I wasn't actually enjoying myself, my inner chatter became incessant at times:
"You should be (working, reading, writing, cleaning, playing the piano, walking, meditating, doing ANYTHING else)."
"Why are you such a glutton for punishment?"
"What are you trying to prove by finishing this puzzle?"
"You know there's a load of laundry in the washing machine, right?"

I became obsessed with finishing this puzzle. My family became concerned. And I just sat with the inner chatter. I reminded myself that there was no "right" or "wrong" way to pass the hours of the weekend. Coming in waves, about every two hours my anxiety would escalate to the point that I felt nauseated. And I'd breathe. And I'd contemplate sweeping my arm across the table and giving up. And then I would think about how good it would feel to finish it, and the meaning of the words on the signs and the lives of the nearly 500,000  people who participated in the March that day, and I'd keep going.

And then on Sunday evening (with some much-needed-7th-inning-stretch help) I finished.
There was one missing piece (as there had been with our previous puzzles because Jenny-the-dog is a sneaky puzzle-piece thief).
I was upset about it for three minutes only. Mostly I was relieved, proud, and grateful that I'd sat with the inner chatter, made space for my feelings, and stayed the course.

Perspective - what I focus on is what I see.

I saw abstract faces everywhere for 24-hours after I finished that puzzle - in leaves and on my roof and in the dirt. Even three random strands of hair in my shower took the shape of a face, reminding me that what I focus on is what I'll naturally notice everywhere. It's a balance to accept life on life's terms, while also acknowledging that I have a say in my own attachments and expectations. The only way I know to shift from a state of disempowerment to empowerment is to ask myself, "what can I control?" (Sometimes the answer is nothing, which is empowering in a different way.)

I can't control a global pandemic or the economic fallout; but I can control how often I wash my hands, how strictly I practice social distancing, and how I manage the resources I have.

I can't control the story that someone has made up in their head about me; but I can control how I respond, and how much (or how little) I interact with that person.

I can't control the life-changing decisions my kids will make; but I can control how well I listen, how respectfully I treat them, and how I approach conflict resolution with them.

I can't control my emotions; but I can control how much I ruminate on the thoughts that are directly influencing my feelings.

There's a lot of suffering right now. There's also a lot of beauty.

I purchased a "puzzle saver" kit from Amazon and hung that m*!%er f&#%ing puzzle on the wall in my bedroom - a COVID-19 reminder that this, too, shall pass.

It's a reminder to notice my inner chatter and perspective without judgment, to stay on my path, to find the next piece, and breathe. (And also that "balance" is something I must be intentional about practicing, while trying to love the part of myself that becomes absolutely lost in projects.)

Someone suggested I place the paper replica behind the missing piece so it was less noticeable. I applied the adhesive to the back of the puzzle with the paper sideways. The universe and I had a good laugh about it together. Then she wrapped her arms around me and said, "all will be well."