I am a very routine person. Specifically because of my ability to be impulsive I am routine. The more routine I am the better I feel when for a moment I am not. When I allow myself some grace to accept that I have no control of the global pandemic. I just refuse to let it keep trying to control me. Not just the virus but the rules. I will keep wearing my mask when I’m around people in case I harbor deadly viruses but for the most part not being around people is my routine. It’s wrecked my life. I’ve lost people from it and know people sick. Not even that sick. Just sort of sick. You can’t say it’s like the flu because people will virtually slap you. But it sounds more like a cold. Maybe even like nothing but a test saying you have it. It sounds so deadly because it’s so sneaky and unknown. It sounds so deadly because we all know about it. It sounds so bad because they keep telling us how bad it is.
How many other unknown things are out there? What if we are so focused on controlling all the people from one thing that it’s a chance for something new to grow and sneak in. We can’t control the world. It has to keep spinning all by itself. The more people try to control it the more I feel it spinning out of control.
So I need my routine back. My dad died and he is not part of it anymore but he really wasn’t anyway. I’m a grown up and my dad wasn’t living here. My dad had his own routine now he has no routine. And I need mine back. He is still part of it in a way. In that pretend way. Where I feel him reminding me to keep my routine and not let the world try to make me so afraid. To take care of me. Because he knows I am so afraid all on my own. I make myself afraid without the help of anyone. I also refuse to let anyone make me afraid. That’s my job. And I’m pretty great at it. The world is fired.
I miss him. I knew I would. It hurts to have had to say goodbye. Maybe it won’t be forever? Maybe he will find his path and ours will cross again someday? Maybe he won’t? I don’t see it not and I also do. I don’t want to think of him. But I will. He impacted my life greatly. But he can’t be part of my routine. He wasn’t and I can’t have a new routine with chaos. That’s also my job.
It was good practice to open up to someone. In person. To allow someone to hold me again to allow someone to be there. I didn’t want it to be practice. But it was just the push I needed to see how far I’ve come. And where I want to go.
I want to allow someone to be there. Not in my routine but in my head. I can’t keep people out forever if I want to have someone again. I also can’t be around people right now in case they are trying to unknowingly spread a virus that will make me maybe sick or not. So how do you meet people in the midst of a global pandemic? Keep living your life. Keep taking your own steps and finding your own adventure. Chose your own. Then they appear. You stumble upon them randomly. They surprise you. They come form no where. Then impact your life and then go the other way or the same? Or no way at all.
I’m always in the woods in my journey in my head. It’s the only way I relate to life. If I can’t be there in real life I am in not. I am always walking a path one foot in front of the other. Then sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m resting. Sometimes I’m off the path. Sometimes I’m looking for a new one. Sometimes I’m chasing an armadillo. But its my adventure and I chose it.
I’ve felt the upset of my no routine in my gut. That’s where I feel it the most. My thoughts are too much and they get digested when they don’t have anywhere to go. Like here. They get swallowed and upset my gut. I’ve had to tell myself I haven’t had the gut sick version of coronavirus too many times when I know myself well enough to know my anxiety is digesting the leftovers it can’t. I know every sniffle i have is pollen, I know every heavy chest is weight of grief, I know that every struggle to breath is from holding my breath since my dad died. Afraid to breath on my own again. Now I know. I don’t have a deadly virus I have anxiety and am grieving.
This is not my new normal. It’s my new routine. And when they change it again I will make a new one. Until I get to one that last longer then a day. There is no school. There just isn’t. My kids aren’t learning anything over the internet other than how to rely on the internet. Which isn’t how I want them to live their lives. I want them to live their lives. Know how to breath, how to find balance, how to grieve, how to love, how to feel. Not do math. These are teachable things. All of them but the core of life is life. How to live it. I use some math. But mostly I don’t. I couldn’t do it well without my numbers moving so I found things that stay still in my head by using my hands and my body not my mind. My mind has better use at just keeping my hands busy. My kids are the same way.
I need the minutes in the morning to write out what’s inside so I don’t eat it and digest it. I need to hear the hum of the fridge and the trickle of the turtle tank before I hear anything else and can’t hear myself. I know there will be days I won’t be able to do it. I’m still grieving and sometimes 4:30 is too early for a heavy heart. But slowly I will get back to 4:30. I did 5:00 today. Will keep it at 5:00 for a week. If the kids happen to get to learn in person again I will go back to 4:30 but until they aren’t leaving I don’t need to.
My daughter wants a pink tree. I didn’t want a tree at all but know I have to put up a tree for them. Their dad did and I have to really do it now. So pink it is. I’ve never had a pink tree it might be fun to see how a pink tree can squiggle it’s way into our life. If might be fun to see where things go with him. It might be fun to just keep walking one foot in front of the other for awhile until something steers me off. Which is always me. I’m never steered off I do it to myself. I leave the trail I’m rarely forced off. I lose the trail not get lost. Right now I was both. But for awhile I see straight ahead. For awhile.
Aspenleaf 