Land Ho!?
As time marches on from our crude introduction to COVID-19, I can't help but imagine us on a ship sailing away from what we once knew as normalcy--life before the pandemic is like a receding light off our stern.
Over a year ago, we were unwittingly thrown into tumultuous seas with no sailing experience or compass on board. The ground beneath our feet and our sense of normalcy were robbed. The beginning of our voyage was marked by a constant state of high alert as we scrambled to find our bearings, stay alive, and learn how to sail while sailing.
Without a compass, it's hard to say where we are at this point in our crossing: we have found our sea legs but are still at sea. The waters are less tumultuous, the weather is even pleasant or lovely at times, but the ubiquitous sea around us is unforgiving. The vaccines and re-opening of society are reminders that land is near, but we wonder what lies ahead and behind. As the physical danger to our well-being diminishes, the psychological and emotional effects of our ongoing journey come into sharp focus.
Despite the promise of hearing "Land Ho!" any day, I am not operating as my pre-covid self: I'd still rather work; I'd still rather not; I'd still rather stay--it's like one big blah! Then I read this article in the NY Times on Monday: "I'm languishing!" I rejoiced, "and I'm not the only one." As Grant predicts, his article helped two-fold: 1) it provided a label for the "blah" I feel; and 2) it connected me to others knowing they may be languishing too.
To summarize, Grant argues that as the pandemic has dragged on, the acute state of anguish we felt in those tumultuous seas has given way to a chronic condition of languish as we sail on. He defines languishing as a state of stagnation or emptiness when one feels like they are muddling through their days, not functioning at their full-capacity. He calls it the middle child between thriving and depression. He says once the term is in our lexicon, we notice it everywhere. I agree: I hear languish when Pip says he wishes it was a school day on Saturday; I see languish when Roo declares he's going to wake up and shower before work and doesn't; I feel languish when I reach for the same pair of jeans every day.
Grant offers three antidotes to languishing: 1) flow or the "elusive state of absorption in a meaningful challenge or a momentary bond, where your sense of time, place and self melts away"; 2) uninterrupted time; and 3) small wins. Yes, yes, and yes!
Until we hear "Land Ho!," I will continue to find flow on my mat, when I write, when I'm outside, and when I'm tending to my loved ones. I may have once found flow in more places, but for now I will tell myself this is enough. I will remind myself to create time and space for uninterrupted flow every day, even if only for a short while. I will appreciate whatever moments of flow I find, and count them as small wins until they start to mitigate the bigger losses.
Soon, the fog in our telescopes will give way to a proceeding light off our bow, and together, we will land back on solid ground.
As always, thank you for reading.
Georgia
P.S. If you are languishing too, perhaps Blue Light can help:
1) Try flowing on your mat in Blue Light Yoga this Tuesday or Thursday at 9am.
2) Connect with our beautiful Blue Light community either in Blue Light Book Club Wednesday evening at 630pm or join Blue Light at Williams Fine Art Dealers for our virtual art show Thursday evening at 730pm.
3) The painting featured above is by Donald Jurney, one of the fabulous artists in our show on Thursday.