Intentions

One year ago, I reflected on the end of a decade. I was surprised at how much had changed in my life and in our world in 10 years. Little did I know that, in a few short months, the world would be brought to its knees by a virus that I had only heard of in passing.

This has been, without contest, the most challenging year I have experienced in my lifetime. At New Years, it's traditional to look back on the past year and to make "resolutions" for the year to come. It's difficult to remember the anxiety, the loss, and disappointment that came with 2020 and I've never been much of a new years resolutions kind of guy.

As I sit here, though, on December 31st, I recognize the many silver linings of the past year. 2020 started with some fun adventures: New Years Eve in downtown Denver, road trips to Mount Rushmore, the Badlands, and skiing at Monarch. I had a few more months with Ramón, my exchange student. Once the pandemic hit, I was able to spend the most time with my family that I had since finishing high school. Although the year did not look at all how we had planned, it did provide opportunity for me to take on several new pursuits. I've been able to spend more time outside and practice my photography. I started learning to play piano. I enrolled in a year-long naturalist training class. I became an International Exchange Coordinator and found my first host family for next year. More recently, I started working on improving my Spanish with the Duolingo App. None of these things would have happened if 2020 had gone as planned.

So, while I'm not making any resolutions for the new year, I do have intentions. Intentions to continue learning, practicing, and bettering myself. Intentions to keep pursuing the things that brought me joy in 2020.

My plans for 2021 are many. I look forward to our new president taking office in a few weeks and, hopefully, changing the tone in our country. I eagerly await my turn to get the vaccine that will, with any luck, bring an end to the pandemic. I am excited for the opportunity to travel again; to host another exchange student; to get back to in-person school so that I can see my students face-to-face; to sit in my favorite coffee shops and people-watch; to eat at my favorite restaurants; to go to Rockies games and enjoy the long summer days; and to see my friends and family without fear of getting sick.

I know that none of these things are guaranteed. We've learned that lesson all too well this year. I have also learned that we can make the best of our circumstances, regardless of what happens. I intend to continue doing that in 2021. My words from my January 1st, 2020 blog post now seem almost prophetic (just change "ten years" to one):

If I had the choice to see ten years into the future, I don’t think that I would. But it’s nice to look back and see all that can happen in ten years – the good and the bad. It helps me to remember two things. 1) If times are good, cherish it. Change happens quickly. 2) If times are hard, be patient. Change happens quickly.

Happy New Year everyone. Here's to what's ahead.

Birds of a Feather

"You can observe a lot by just watching." One of Yogi Berra's famous quips.

With the weather being unseasonably nice last week and being home before it gets dark (thanks to remote schooling again), I was able to continue my evening walks that I started last summer to help lift my spirits through this pandemic. On a few of those walks, there were hundreds - if not thousands - of geese in and around the pond that I frequent.

I see geese all the time but I've never really watched their behavior very closely until this week. They caught my attention when a few of them dropped from the sky to land in the pond right in front of me. I was fascinated with how skilled they were at maneuvering through the air. Their wings curved toward the ground to slow themselves down and their webbed feet popped out right as they touched down on the water. They reminded me of 747s at the airport with their flaps down as the landing gear extends and the plane gently rolls across the runway. I used to listen to the air traffic at the airport on my dad's scanner and I learned about how the runways have different numbers depending on which way the planes approach. That depends on the direction of the wind. As the next group of geese came in for a landing, I noticed that they, too, circled around the pond before they all landed in the same direction - using the wind to ensure a smooth and steady approach. I suppose they learned that trick long before the Wright brothers.

To think that we as humans are able to fly - albeit with the help of aluminum and some jet fuel - because somebody took time to observe the birds. How many other things might we discover if we were to stop and look? I think of our current situation with the coronavirus pandemic. Because people have taken the time to observe and understand how our immune system works and learned to replicate it in a lab, we will likely have a vaccine in the near future that will allow us to return to normal and save many lives. 

Last week, I attended an online class through Audubon about Aldo Leopold. He was known for his love of nature and his most famous book is mostly a collection of his observations. I decided to follow his example and watch the geese for a while longer. As I did, my head filled with questions. I noticed as dozens more geese flew overhead that only a few of them dropped out and landed in the pond. Why did those individuals join the group in the water while the rest continued on? Were they planning to catch up with the other group later or was that they last time they would ever fly with those particular geese? Were all of the geese in the area part of a larger group that would eventually reconvene and move on to the next stop or do they move from group to group as they please? As the new geese landed in the pond, none of the others protested. They continued on in search for food or perhaps just resting their wings for the next long flight. When another group few overhead, the honks would get louder and I wondered what they were communicating.

It's difficult to not put our human thoughts and emotions on animals. I suppose the geese's primary concern is survival, especially in November when food is scarce and the weather can turn at any moment. But, I couldn't help wondering if we could learn something from their interactions. The geese accepted newcomers each time they arrived and they didn't exclude the geese who looked different
(contrary to the story of the ugly duckling). Yesterday, there was one goose that stuck out like a sore thumb. Its feathers were mostly white, probably a result of leucism (a genetic mutation that causes a lack of pigmentation), but it swam around with the others like it was no big deal. When the geese fly, they take turns leading their V formation so that the others can fly in their draft, conserve energy, and communicate. Their instincts and their natural behaviors help each other to survive and to thrive.

At one point, hundreds of geese in the field nearby took off simultaneously and started flying in the same direction. There was a symphony of honking as they circled around and flew toward the mountains. What made them decide to go at that moment? How did they all know? Was there a leader, or group of leaders, who made the decision? Where were they going next?

This year has forced me to slow down. It's helped me to notice more and to ask more questions. That's the best way to learn.

I encourage you slow down this week and look more closely at the world around you. It has a lot to teach us.

Friluftsliv

The titles of my last few posts have come rather serendipitously (shpilkes, ancora imparo). I learn a new word or phrase that describes what I've been writing about and it confirms for me that I must have needed to process that idea. This post is no different.

Two words this week that resonated with me - friluftsliv and desideratum.

Language is such a powerful thing. It allows us to communicate with others, but it also allows us to communicate with ourselves. When we expand our vocabulary, we expand our capacity to make sense of the world.  My friend Brett shared an article last week about the concept of friluftsliv. This is a Norwegian word that basically means "open air living." Norwegians are known for their love of nature. They recognize the importance of being connected to nature and taking care of the Earth.

For several years now, my interest in nature and spending time outside has continued to grow. I've read a lot about how time in nature is beneficial for our physical and mental health (I even published an article about it). During the last eight months of this COVID pandemic, I would say that spending time outside - friluftsliv - has been the main thing that has gotten me through. Between short walks in the evenings by myself and longer hikes with friends this summer and fall, I've been able to process my thoughts and emotions - grief, disappointment, anticipation, anger, worry, hope, wonder. At other times, going outside has allowed me to slow my thoughts and just be present. The year-long Audubon Naturalist class I started this month has allowed me to exercise my legs and my mind. Last week, I was also able to visit Rocky Mountain National Park with some friends and put my worries on a shelf for the day.

It is fascinating to me how things often seem to come together regardless of our actions (and sometimes despite them); how contradicting situations can happen simultaneously; and how challenging moments in life can be redeemed.

Here's what I mean:

The Loch in RMNP

One of the biggest disappointments for me this year was the cancelation of my Norwegian student's exchange year. Ironically, the thing that has helped me most through this difficult year is the Norwegian philosophy of friluftsliv.

As my friends and I hiked through Rocky Mountain National Park last week (practicing friluftsliv) to escape the monotony of life in a pandemic, we were greeted by 50+ mph winds and a plume of smoke filled the sky from the largest recorded wildfire in Colorado history. Yet, I was still able to experience the beauty of creation and feel at peace when we reached the lake at the top of the trail. Plus, I was able to use my national park pass one more time before it expires next month.

What's more ironic, those fires that continue to burn much of our state, while devastating, have created some of the most beautiful sunsets I've seen in a while.

My Owl Visitor

The COVID pandemic has taken away so much from all of us, but it's also given me permission to slow down, to try new things, and to prioritize what's important. I was sitting outside a cafe across the street from my apartment one evening a few weeks ago - something that I would not have been doing if it weren't for "social distancing" - when a great horned owl (my favorite animal) flew above my head and landed on the roof next to me. Sometimes it's the little things that count.

On a larger scale, I started writing this blog last October, one year ago this month. In my second post in early November, I talked about how October has for many years been my least favorite month: shorter, colder days, the end of summer, falling leaves that represent death and dormancy, less travel and adventure, and the beginning of the long, cold winter. Well, looking back, last October was actually the beginning of several great adventures I had with my exchange student Ramón. Adventures to the Grand Canyon, five other National Parks, and Mount Rushmore. All of those happened in the fall and winter. This spring and summer were by far more challenging.

My perspective on October - and on life in general - has changed this year. Although Colorado is currently experiencing its highest number of confirmed COVID cases, there is also the hope of a potential vaccine on the horizon. Although our country has become more divided in recent years - politically, socially, and economically - there is also the prospect of electing new leadership. Leadership that will hopefully prioritize solutions for the pandemic and recognize the urgent need to protect our planet and the diverse people who live on it. Neither of those things is guaranteed, but I'm feeling optimistic that this October may be the start of a shift to something better.

The other thing I'm learning is that friluftsliv isn't just for a season. The onset of winter doesn't have to mean the pause of getting outside. As they say in Norway "there is no bad weather, only bad clothing." October may not be my favorite month and winter may not be my favorite season but, as I mentioned above, most of my favorite memories from the last year happened last winter. My adventure to RMNP last week reminded me that life is what I make of it and, even with the things that I can't control, things work out how they should.

One of the reasons I wanted to visit RMNP last week was to try taking some photos of the Milky Way at night. Although the photos that I got are not award-winning and it was freezing standing outside in the dark, I felt exhilarated staring at the sky and capturing that moment in time. It represents perfectly the state of uncertainty in which we're currently living. On the left side are the mountains, the sky, and the dependable stars that have glowed for millions of years. On the right side is the reminder of the fire that's burning just over the horizon. We don't know when it will burn out or how much damage it will do in the process, but it can't extinguish the stars behind it.

Night Sky in RMNP - Glowing on the horizon from the Cameron Peak Fire

This photo reminded me of one of my favorite poems. It's a poem that my mom has always loved and that she shared with my sisters and me when we were younger. The title of the poem, Desiderata, was my other serendipitous word for this week. As I sat down to proof-read this post before publishing it, I noticed an email in my inbox from dictionary.com with today's word of the day:

After my goosebumps subsided, I read this excerpt from the poem again and smiled. I'll end with this in hopes that it brings you a smile as well.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. 

-Desiderata, Max Ehrmann

 

 

Ancora Imparò

Ancora imparò - Italian for "I'm still learning." A fellow zoo volunteer taught me that phrase recently and I think it fits me well.

If you read my last post, Shpilkes, you know that I've been contemplating ways to keep myself busy, engaged, and challenged; especially as we continue to deal with the COVID-19 pandemic. This is how I operate: any time that I am feeling restless or unfulfilled, I find something new to try. I've always loved learning new skills and it's easy for me to find interest in most topics. I suppose I want to be a renaissance man, a Michelangelo or Da Vinci.

Well, over the past few weeks, I've committed myself to a few new pursuits. Three, to be exact:

1) I've always wanted to learn to play guitar, piano, and drums, but I've never taken the first step to learn any of them. When Ramón, my exchange student last year, came to Colorado, I bought a new digital piano for him to practice. I thought that, if I make the investment, it will finally motivate me to learn. Listening to him play made me even more eager to start. I found a music school in Colorado that does lessons virtually and I'm now almost a month into playing. I get excited to play in the evenings after work because I want to progress quickly. I'm already getting better at playing some scales and a few tunes.

2) I have been on a waitlist for Denver Audubon's Community Naturalist Training for over two years now. I've never signed up because it has always conflicted with something else I am doing. It is a year-long course that covers things like geology, ecology, botany, meteorology, insects, birds, mammals, and all sorts of other animals. Once I finish the class, I am excited to use what I learn when volunteering at the zoo, as an educator (maybe start doing some wilderness therapy), or even in new roles as a naturalist guide or park interpreter. If nothing else, it will enhance my own experiences and observations when I am in nature.

3) I was so disappointed to learn a few weeks ago that my exchange student from Norway will not be able to have his exchange year because of COVID. I am hopeful that we can find another way to connect and for him to still experience Colorado and the US.
    Last year, while Ramón was here, I was encouraged to consider becoming an International Exchange Coordinator (IEC). In this role, I look for families in the community who are willing to host a high school student, help find students to match with these families, and support the students and families during the exchange year. Last week, I started my IEC application. I have also started looking for another student to host next school year. It seems like so long from now, but I am excited for students to come to the US again and I am hopeful that things will be better next fall. My experience as a host parent last year taught me a lot - about another culture, about myself, about being a parent. I am excited for the experience of hosting again and for the chance to experience it from another role.

Taking on these new things has made me more optimistic about the upcoming school year and about the future in general. While I know that there will still be some challenges - potentially some very big challenges - I am finding ways to make the best of an unfortunate situation. In fact, if it weren't for COVID putting a halt on much of my life over the past five months, I would probably not be doing the things I mentioned above. Life takes us in unexpected directions sometimes, and that's not always a bad thing.

People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasure that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly... The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. No heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity.

-Paulo Coelho 

I recently read The Alchemist for the second time. I finished it in one day. It's a short book and it's easy to absorb in one sitting.

That book kept coming to mind because I remembered the feelings it stirred up in me the first time I read it. With all of the soul searching I've had time to do this summer, I needed some inspiration. I feel that I have several things in common with the main character, Santiago. He loves to travel and experience new adventures, and he spends a lot of time contemplating the meaning of things. He is a philosopher of sorts. He has many interests, too, and he has tried a number of different jobs. He doesn't consider his job his purpose in life; more of a means to an end. However, that doesn't keep him from working hard and appreciating the things he learns from each of his roles.

Santiago learns of the Personal Journey and he goes on a quest to fulfill his. On his journey, he is robbed a few times. He has to cross a desert to reach his goal. He meets a number of people and learns several new skills along the way. Several times, he doubts himself and he considers going back to his old life as a shepherd.

The past several months have felt like a desert. We've all been robbed of many things - time with people we love, rites of passage, long anticipated trips or events, and more. We are all learning to be more resilient.

Ultimately, Santiago meets the alchemist, a man who has learned the impossible task of transforming lead into gold. He gives Santiago direction and a renewed sense of purpose.

We may still have some miles to go before we're out of this desert, but I'm looking for ways to transform the experience. The desert is still part of the journey and, even in the desert, I can learn something new. Ancora imparò.

This is why alchemy exists, so that everyone will search for his treasure, find it, and then want to be better than he was in his former life. Lead will play its role until the world has no further need for lead; and then lead will have to turn itself into gold.

That's what alchemists do. They show that, when we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too.

-Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Shpilkes

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while... I’m two, and both keep their distance – Siamese twins that aren’t attached.       -Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Last week, I went on a hike and got coffee with the rest of the mental health team from my school. The four of us talked about the ups and downs of the last several months among other things. It was much needed self-care for a group of people who have made a career out of caring for others.

One theme that kept surfacing in our conversation was that we've experienced a lot of restlessness and unease throughout this pandemic. While that may not be surprising, and while much of that unease is due to COVID itself, the pandemic seems to have raised some even bigger existential questions in us. It's caused us to reevaluate a number of things in our lives - our values, our priorities, and how we spend our time. I kept trying to describe the feeling I was having unsuccessfully until, at one point, my colleague said "we've got shpilkes."

Shpilkes?

If you ever watched SNL's Coffee Talk (thank you 90s sketch comedy), you've heard it before. You know, when Paul Baldwin developed shpilkes in his genechtagazoink. Aside from the flagrant cultural insensitivity, Linda Richman (Mike Myers) makes clear that sometimes "le mot just" is in another language.

Shpilkes. It's a yiddish word that means pins. Like "sitting on pins and needles," it's a nervous energy, anxiousness, or restlessness that comes while waiting for something to happen. It's a feeling of impatience or agitation.

Reflecting on the last four months, and reading through many of my blog posts, it's clear that I've had a pretty constant case of shpilkes since this virus entered the picture (and fairly often before that, too). All of the uncertainty and the abrupt changes have felt paralyzing. Waiting for answers about what is to come has felt torturous at times and long anticipated things continue to be cancelled or postponed. I've found myself looking for new things to do - things that will keep me busy, take my mind off of the pandemic, and things over which I have some control. As we all know, those things have been hard to come by.

Every so often, I get this same feeling. It's like an itch that I need to scratch - a need for doing something new. It could be trying a new hobby, visiting a new place, or taking on some new endeavor. It usually happens when I feel like my life has become stagnant and I need a new challenge. Once I have an idea, I can't leave it alone until I've thoroughly researched it and decided to either do it or realized that it's not for me. My first blog post last October talked a lot about this: I often find myself asking the question "what's next?"

I believe this "itch" is what caused me to go back to school multiple times for new degrees. It's what led me to volunteer at the Birds of Prey foundation years ago and, more recently, at the Denver Zoo. It's why I decided to be a "Big Brother" and why I decided to start hosting foreign exchange students. It's why I've had a number of random jobs like teaching driver's ed and working as a lifeguard and archery instructor at a camp in West Virginia one summer. It's why I went on a conservation trip to Hawai'i last summer to learn about endangered birds and it's why I love taking my students on trips around the world. It's why I've had some unusual pets (like geckos) and why I bought a drum set and a piano.

Shpilkes can be a good thing. In healthy doses, it creates an unsettling feeling that forces us to act. It's a catalyst for change and for growth. For trying something new.

With this most recent case of shpilkes, I've been considering things I could do this fall to make up for cancelled plans. I've looked into taking some ecology classes through Denver Audubon or some photography classes to take my hobby to the next level. I've considered learning about my more recent interest in specialty coffee by taking a barista class or becoming a Q grader (like a sommelier for coffee). My interest in travel and experiencing new places even caused me to look into the qualifications for becoming a foreign service officer...

Maybe, though, I just need to have some patience...

If I do any of those things, I want it to be because I'm genuinely interested and excited for them, not because I'm just trying to distract myself from these challenging times. I go back to work next week and I think that planning for the new school year will keep me plenty busy. I've always appreciated the break that I get each summer working in a school, but this summer it's felt more like a liability. I've had too much time to spend with just my thoughts which has only made the shpilkes worse.

I am looking forward to the day when this virus is just a memory. Hopefully, we'll come out of this situation better prepared, smarter, more understanding, more compassionate, and more patient than we were before. Hopefully, we can salvage some of the things we've lost along the way.

While this situation continues to make me feel stir-crazy, at least I now have a word for it. I don't know if/how I'll scratch the itch this time. Sometimes, though, just naming our emotions helps us feel better. It doesn't change the situation, but at least I can call it for what it is.

I've got shpilkes.

Headlines

"Case of rare brain-eating amoeba confirmed in Florida."

That was a headline in my news feed this morning. My response: "of course there is..." With the recent challenges that have faced the world, it seems only fitting that brain-eating amoebas would add to the mix.

I've always been a person who likes to research and understand everything. In the past couple of months I have become a sponge for the news. Most of what I've read has to do with the coronavirus. I want to understand this thing that has caused 2020 to be the most bizarre, difficult, and unsettling year in my lifetime. However, the coronavirus is not the only thing that will make this year one to remember - globally, nationally, and personally. As we also deal with questions of racism, policing, our history, our political environment, and the actual environment, this year will no doubt be a turning point. I question whether or not it's healthy for me to check the news each day as I often get sucked into a rabbit hole. What I read clearly has an impact on my overall mood and, as I move from article to article, I can experience both hopefulness and dread within a matter of minutes. At the same time, I also feel that being uninformed is irresponsible of me. There is a balance, I know, but I suppose I'm still trying to find it.

I started writing this blog back in October because I felt a need to document the things that were happening in my head. I'm glad that I did because it has helped to ground me and it has given me an outlet, especially as things in our world have become increasing challenging. I don't know if anybody is reading or how much people can relate to my experience, but it helps me to put it out there. As I've looked over the posts I've published since October, I am reminded at how quickly things change; including my mental status. Although the future continues to be very uncertain, it helps me to have these blogs as signposts of where I've been and where our world has been in recent months. There are recurring themes in my posts that remind me of my values and remind me that life is not about arriving at a destination but experiencing the journey. It's about being present in each part of that journey, even the difficult parts.

One of the reasons why I've been so glued to the news recently is that there are a number of questions that I hope will be answered soon that will impact the coming months for me. My mantra for the month of June (and, so far, July) seems to be "we just have to wait and see." Here's why:

Cases of the coronavirus are spiking in the US over the past couple of weeks which has created all new uncertainty. I've been wondering how bad it will get and how much it will impact us again. Since it can take two weeks for symptoms to emerge, there is also always a lag time in the data. So, we just have to wait and see.

Our school district is expected to release this week the plans for how school will run in the fall. I don't know if I will be working from home, going to school everyday, or a combination of both. Obviously, even those plans could change depending on the status of the virus. We just have to wait and see.

I am still hopeful that my new exchange student will get to come to Colorado this year. As of now, travel from Europe to the US is still restricted and students cannot get their visas. Government officials have hinted that those restrictions may be lifted soon but, so far, we don't know. The next year will look very different for Filip and for me depending on that one factor right now. We just have to wait and see.

This November will bring what I believe is one of the most important elections in our country's history. We learned from the last election that polls don't always tell the whole picture. So, it's hard to say what will happen. We just have to wait and see.

There are always questions that we want answered. The future is never certain and things change all the time. Maybe it's the number of (big) unknowns that are happening all at once combined with the amount of time I've had at home to ruminate on them, but all of these questions have made recent weeks particularly challenging for me. I've learned that there's truth in the old proverb "an idle mind is the devil's workshop," but I also believe that it doesn't have to be this way. I've been learning some basic mindfulness practices and I've (unintentionally) read several books lately that have talked about the importance of living in the present moment. One book I read a couple of years ago, The Book of Joy, is about the unique friendship between the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the wisdom they both embody. I just discovered (by looking at the news) that today is the Dalai Lama's 85th birthday, so I figured that a quote from him is appropriate.

Man is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he's never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.

With so much downtime lately, it's been easy to keep thinking about the future and wondering what will happen. Reading the news sometimes gives me answers and sometimes takes me down a dark road. I have found some balance, though - playing disc golf with friends, going for hikes with coworkers, and going for walks with just my camera. I'm also eight seasons into watching my favorite TV show for the forth or fifth time. Sometimes I feel guilty for not spending this time being more productive, but I have read a few books that have been on my list for a while. I also reorganized my spice cabinet. For some reason, that made me feel better. I have to give myself permission to just be.

My answers will come soon enough. They may not all be the answers I want to hear, but I'll walk those roads when they come. We will get through the upcoming challenges, even if there is a brain-eating amoeba in Florida.

Discomfort - Life in 2020

If I had to choose a word to best describe this year for me so far, it would be discomfort.

I am a planner by nature. I love to have a plan for almost everything: my work day, my summer break, the road trip I'm taking, or even the difficult conversation I need to have with somebody.

There's nothing wrong with creating plans. It allows us to be productive and to accomplish our goals. It's one of the things that sets us apart from animals - our ability to anticipate and prepare for the future. It's why we were just able to send two men into space last weekend and why we'll more than likely find a vaccine for COVID-19.

What I've realized, though, is that my planning doesn't just help me to prepare for the future. It's also my attempt to try and control the future and, thereby, lessen my worry about what may come. Planning, by necessity, means living in the future which means less time living in the present. When uncertainty makes planning difficult, if not impossible, it creates anxiety.

I wrote this post back in November after attending a professional development seminar focused on anxiety. I heard the same presenter again last week and the events of the past few months have made my thoughts in that November post even more true and relevant today. I just finished reading Alan Watt's book The Wisdom of Insecurity and there were a number of things in his book that stuck with me. Most importantly, his point that we can only live in the present moment. By wishing and waiting for future happiness, we are robbing ourselves of experiencing life now while chasing something that is never guaranteed.

If there have ever been times that I tended to live in the past or the future, the months of March, April, and May of this year were certainly among them. So many times I've wished that things could go back to how they were before the coronavirus hit us or, likewise, that we could skip ahead to when we have defeated this virus and can resume our "normal" lives. For so long, we have managed as a society to suppress some of the biggest issues that need addressing. People had warned us about the possibility (rather, the inevitability) of a global disease pandemic, but we were caught largely unprepared. Now, in the midst of this pandemic, the problem of racial inequality has again been brought to light. Many are making it impossible to continue ignoring, and rightfully so.

There are many other issues that need to be addressed in our society. Global climate change, poverty, and inequality are a few that come to mind. While we as humans have great capacity for serving others, we are also great at serving ourselves. Because of this, we often don't change our ways until we are forced. My hope is that we're learning from current events that it's better to tackle these issues out of choice rather than necessity. We need a plan.

Plato said that necessity is the mother of invention. While that may be true, we are seeing now that necessity often comes with pain and suffering. When faced with something difficult, we scramble to find relief, comfort, and happiness as quickly as we can. In other words, we try to live in the past or the future. Rather than plan for and deal with the situation, we avoid or deny it. We want anything but to sit in our present discomfort. The reality, though, is that we cannot live in constant pleasure and happiness. Watts says that "the more we are able to feel pleasure, the more we are vulnerable to pain." In relationships, "the more we are able to love another person and to enjoy his company, the greater must be our grief at his death, or in separation."

We have two options to respond to this. We can either close ourselves off - to the world and to others - as to try lessening pain and suffering, but also sacrificing the possibility of joy and intimacy. Or, we can be present in every moment, good or bad, fully experiencing the pain or joy that comes in each. If we want to experience happiness, we have to be willing to experience pain as well.

This concept is helping me to better understand what St. Paul meant in Romans:

"We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope."

These last few months have been uncomfortable to say the least. For some, they have been unbearably painful. To some degree we have all had to deal with uncertainty, loss, separation, isolation, and grief. It is not easy and it is not comfortable, but we cannot spend the time longing for the past or living in the future. Neither can we simply plan away our anxiety or skip over the difficult parts of life. We have to be present - even rejoice in - these times knowing that we will come through with more endurance, character, and hope. We will grow from this. We will come through this. When we do, if we were willing to fully engage in the discomfort, we will then be able to fully experience the joy that comes after.

How Do Lobsters Grow?
(Another beautiful analogy shared in last week's presentation)

https://youtu.be/dcUAIpZrwog

Are we there yet?

It was almost exactly two months ago today when I realized that our world was about to change drastically. I had heard about the coronavirus and even some of the predictions about how widespread it would become. I think that my denial is what kept me from letting that reality sink in. That, and the fact that this is something that most of us have never experienced in our lifetime. We didn't know what to expect. It wasn't until school was closed, Ramón was sent home, and the "stay at home" order took affect that I fully grasped the severity, and the longevity, of this pandemic.

What I've realized over the past two months is that there are two feelings that recur the most and are the primary reasons for this situation being so difficult: grief and uncertainty.

Whether or not we realize it, we have all been grieving during this time. There is both a collective grief and individual grief that can be hard to process. For some, there is grief over losing a loved one to this disease. For others, there is grief over losing a job or a business, being separated from others, missing out on important events like prom and graduation, or having something end prematurely. Hearing the words "cancelled" and "closed" has become routine and expected. All of these things add up to the collective grief that we are experiencing globally. What adds to the difficulty of dealing with our grief is that we're having to support each other from a distance. We cannot be there for each other physically the way we normally would. The important ritual of burying those who have died has been denied or postponed for so many and new things to grieve are being added on daily.

The other part that is so difficult in this situation is the uncertainty. I would call it fear, but I don't feel that's specific enough. Uncertainty is a more specific type of fear that better describes what most of us are feeling. We don't know if we will get the disease. If we do, we don't know how bad it will be. We don't know when or how this pandemic will end or how much damage will ultimately be done. Our calendars are blank and we're not sure when we can start to add to them again. I understand the push from many to get things opened up again. We all want to get back to normal as fast as we can. We need to have our routines back, at least partly, in order to deal with the grief and uncertainty that we feel. For all of us, we need it for our mental health and for many, we need it for our physical and financial wellbeing, too.

I realize how gloomy this post is so far, but that's okay. I think we all need to call this for what it is and recognize that we're all feeling the same thing. This is a rare moment when almost everybody on the planet can empathize with one another. We're all experiencing this first-hand.

I watched this interview from The Daily Show with Ricky Gervais and they describe both of these things - uncertainty and grief - perfectly.

Ricky: I think that the big thing is, apart from the risk and worry about your family and self and everything like that, I think people wish they could have a date. It's like it's turned us into kids. We keep going "are we there yet? Are we there yet?" And no-one knows. No-one knows when it will be over. We don't know what will happen. Will it come back? We don't know. Can you get it twice? No-one knows anything... If someone said "it's over on September the 1st", people would go "okay, fine, see you September the 1st." But it's just not that easy...

I realize that everyone's grieving. Everyone's grieving. Recently, or now, and you don't get over it.

Trevor: It feels like that's what we're all experiencing on a larger level. For the first time in history, we're all experiencing a shared grief in a way that even world wars didn't create. Everyone in the world is experiencing some effect from lock down, some effect from losing somebody, some effect from losing their life, the way they live, their family.

Ricky: I think that most people have started realizing what the most important things in life are. I think it also makes you appreciate the mundane things in life... Those things save you.

What usually helps me through difficult times like this is to think about something coming up that I am looking forward to. Something stable. Something reliable. When uncertainty causes me anxiety, things like my routine can provide some comfort. There are a number of things that I am excited about in the next few weeks, months, and years but, based on what the experts tell us, this virus will likely still be with us and it may impact any and all of these things that I am hopeful for:

-Summer, my favorite season, is just around the corner. I can go outside, sit by the pool, go for a hike, take my camera, and enjoy nature.
-My sister and her family may visit this summer. I will get to meet my nephew, something that I missed out on in March, and spend more time with my whole family.
-I can see my friends, play a round of disc golf, meet at a coffee shop, or take the train to Denver for a Rockies game.
-We will go back to school in August, at least partially in person, and I will get to see my students and colleagues face to face.
-My next exchange student, Filip, will be coming at the end of the summer and we'll have a whole new set of adventures. I will also get to see Ramón again, hopefully sooner than later, here or in Spain.
-I will be taking a group of students to Panama next Spring and maybe still get to do our trip to Australia and New Zealand next summer.

It's hard not knowing what will happen. While this new daily routine may be less exciting and less fulfilling while we wait out this virus, at least there is still a routine. There are some things, small as they may be, that I can rely on and look forward to each day. Just like Ricky said in the interview, we have to appreciate the mundane things in life, especially right now.

There are plenty of mundane things in my new routine that are saving me: making my favorite coffee drink each day, having my cat curl up in my lap while I work, watching a favorite TV show at night to have a laugh, having a good conversation with a friend over text or video chat, or getting my thoughts out by writing in a blog.

Tonight, I sat on my balcony and listened to the sound of heavy rain and thunder as a storm passed through.

It's calm outside now.

Like that storm, COVID-19 will also pass. We don't know when, and that's hard, but it will pass.

A Thousand Words

40 Years of Family Photos

It's said that a picture is worth a thousand words. If that's true, then I could now write an anthology.

I have been staying at my parents' house since this pandemic began and it has given me a chance to do something I have wanted (and needed) to do for years. I have been sorting through closets and drawers full of things from my childhood: clothes, photos, receipts, souvenirs, toys, videos, school work, and more. I've thrown away a few bags worth of things, but I've also kept some items that still have meaning. My collection of PEZ dispensers, my Jurassic Park Giga Pet, and my Walkman and cassette tape collection (Ace of Base was my favorite) bring back great memories of the wonderful decade that was the 90s. However, the things that bring me the most joy are the photos that remind me of the significant people in my life and the times I've had with them.

After going through my own things, I decided to tackle the cabinet full of family photos going back to about 1980. These photos were piled in boxes, many of which hadn't been looked at for years. I wanted to be able to see and share them so, after going through and sorting them (probably close to 10,000 photos), I scanned and uploaded 2,834 of them into Google Photos.

My sister and me with our grandparents

What I love about photographs is that, while they only capture a single moment in time, they remind me of a whole experience - an event, a trip, a person or group of people, a time period, or a feeling. That moment will never happen again in the exact same way, but the experience can be relived in your mind over an over and photographs make the memories so much more vivid. Some of the photos I found were of events that happened when I was too young to remember them, but seeing the photo makes me feel connected to the person or place. My mom's parents died when I was only five years old so I don't have many memories of them. Seeing photos of me with them, though, helps to fill in the fuzzy memories that I do have and I feel closer to my grandparents.

What's also great about photos is that they allow us to invite others into our lives and our experiences on a much deeper level. While that may seem obvious, it's so much more remarkable than we realize. Modern photography wasn't invented until the 1820s and those photographs were nothing compared to the ones I can now take with my DSLR (or my new iPhone for that matter). Before that, people could get some fairly realistic portraits painted, but they had no other way to record themselves in time besides their own fleeting memory. A photograph is just light being captured on film or a sensor in a certain way, but it has the powerful ability to bring back memories, inspire awe, and trigger strong emotions. That is one reason why I have always loved photography since I took my first class in high school.

My friend Brett shared this poem a couple of weeks ago and it made me think about some of the places I've been and the experiences I've had with others.

Child of Mine, come
as you grow in youth
you will learn
the secret places
the cave behind the waterfall
the arms of the oak
that hold you high
the stars so near
on a desert ledge
...the important places. 

And, as with age, you choose
your own way
among the many faces
of a busy world
may you always remember
the path that leads back.
...back to the important places.
-Dad to Forest, 1986

Grand Canyon c. 1990

Photographs take us back to those important places. Looking through old photos has reminded me of many people, places, and experiences I've had. I found one photo of me at the Grand Canyon when I was only about five years old. I didn't even remember that I had been there but I found out that our family stopped on the way home from a trip to Arizona. Having just visited the Grand Canyon again in November, it made me think about how much different I am now and how many experiences I've had since I was that five year old with my Ninja Turtles t-shirt and my jean shorts. There is no way for me to remember every experience I've had in life, but photos can help me remember at least some.

While we deal with this virus pandemic, I don't know how soon we will all be able to visit our favorite places with our favorite people again. For now, the memories of both will have to do. Since most of us keep our photos on our phones and social media now, it's easy for us to go back, remember those times, and share with others. If you haven't looked for a while, scroll back in time through your photos on your phone (or your Facebook or Instagram page). I did that this week and it brought a smile to my face many times.

Here are some of my favorite memories and significant people from my life that I found in my photos:

Click here to see this whole album and see the photo descriptions.

I challenge you to find a photo or two of an important place, person, or event from your camera roll or social media and reconnect with somebody from that experience.

If there's a photo in the album I shared above that you were part of (or even if there isn't), I would love to hear a memory you have of that experience or another experience you and I had together in the comments.

The Great Pause

Back in January, I wrote a post called Presence and I talked about how, in the age of technology, smartphones, and social media, it is so important for us to put those things away at times and be physically present with others. The irony is that, less than two months after I wrote that, our world is in a place where those technologies are the only things allowing us to connect with others and maintain some level of presence.

My appreciation for these technologies has grown substantially in the past three weeks because, despite having not left the house in a month except to get food, I have been able to stay relatively connected to many of the people I care about. I've been able to continue doing my job (sort of) supporting students and helping them learn even when they cannot go to school. I've played some of my favorite games on video chats with friends. I've attended virtual meetings for groups and clubs that I am part of - classes that I wouldn't have had time to attend during my normally busy schedule. I've been able to stay in contact with my exchange student even though he is back in Spain and thousands of miles away. Although these interactions are not the same as being physically present, I cannot imagine how much harder the past three weeks would have been if we were completely isolated without those technologies.

I've written a few posts about the coronavirus epidemic already. I've reflected on how this time has forced us to slow down and how that's a good thing. I've realized the importance of checking in with others, even if it's just a quick message to let them know you're thinking about them. And I've realized how much I take things for granted.

The next step for me is deciding how I want to come out of this situation. We cannot get back the last two months of our lives or the things we missed out on, but this interruption is a great opportunity to reset and to do things differently going forward.

Several of my friends have shared this article from Forge by Julio Vincent Gambuto that describes this very opportunity. Here is my favorite part:

From one citizen to another, I beg of you: take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud. We get to Marie Kondo the shit out of it all. We care deeply about one another. That is clear. That can be seen in every supportive Facebook post, in every meal dropped off for a neighbor, in every Zoom birthday party. We are a good people. And as a good people, we want to define — on our own terms — what this country looks like in five, 10, 50 years. This is our chance to do that, the biggest one we have ever gotten. And the best one we’ll ever get.

My fear is that we won't take the opportunity; that I won't take the opportunity.

It is so much easier, and more comfortable, to go back to exactly the way things were. We can simply put our blinders back on and only choose to see the things we want to see. We can fill our calendars back up with our business (and busy-ness), go back to our routine of convenience, and kick the can further down the road when it comes to dealing with global, and personal, issues.

There are some glimmers of hope, though.

Maybe congress passing a $2.2 trillion relief bill almost unanimously is a sign that we (liberals and conservatives) still have some things in common; that taking care of each other is more important than getting what we want.

Maybe the improvement to the air and water quality in many cities and carbon emissions at their lowest point in years as a result of us all staying home and shutting things down for a while is the catalyst we needed to start taking better care of our planet.

Maybe I'm naive.

On a personal level, I need to use the time I have remaining stuck inside to consider what I will do differently; to decide what I want to put back in my life, and what I want to leave out. I need to figure out what things make me happy and give me purpose, and what things just keep me busy.

Here are some things I know are in the first category:

1) Visiting with my family. I've been at my parents' house for the longest amount of time since graduating high school which I didn't expect to happen. I've made the cookies that my mom taught me how to make in middle school (yes, the Nestle Tollhouse recipe). I've done the dishes, "debated" with my sister, watched some Jeopardy, and played way too many rounds of cards. I've even had a chance to go through old photos and other things from my childhood. I can't take for granted that I had the option to do this rather than sit at home by myself. I missed out on visiting my other sister and her family last month, but that will happen soon enough.

2) My job. Middle school kids are a fun, unique, and insightful bunch. I didn't realize how much I get from being in the presence of their awkwardness until now when my interactions are only through emails and virtual classrooms. I certainly don't feel like I make a profound impact on kids everyday in my job but, on the days when I get to leave school knowing that I helped a student navigate this tough stage in life, it definitely gives me a sense of purpose.

3) Investing in others. Being a mentor with Big Brothers Big Sisters is one way I can continue to do this. I stopped leading Young Life this year which was a good decision for me, but I knew that I needed to find a new way to invest myself in others. Hosting an exchange student this year was that opportunity. I knew going into it that it was only for 10 months and I wasn't sure how it would feel to say goodbye. Having that time cut short because of the coronavirus made it even tougher. The eight months that Ramón and I did have were so much fun, though. I got a small glimpse into being a parent and all of the things that come with it. Although it was only 8 months, it was well worth it. I have agreed to host another student next year and I am both nervous and excited.

4) Friends. This is an area that I need to focus on. I realize that I have kept myself so busy with other things for many years that I have failed to maintain some important friendships.

5) A cause. Over the past few years, I have learned a lot about climate change and other impacts that we as humans are having on our planet. It seems like such a daunting task to try and address it, but I know that, at the very least, there are many small things I can do to reduce my impact. If I'm going to continue investing in the next generation, it would be hypocritical of me to not at least try to live more sustainably and leave the planet a little bit better for them.

We're at a turning point. What we do with it is up to us, individually and collectively.

Also from Julio Vincent Gambuto:

Well, the treadmill you’ve been on for decades just stopped. Bam! And that feeling you have right now is the same as if you’d been thrown off your Peloton bike and onto the ground: What in the holy fuck just happened? I hope you might consider this: What happened is inexplicably incredible. It’s the greatest gift ever unwrapped. Not the deaths, not the virus, but The Great Pause.

Live Deliberately

I have been wanting to read Henry David Thoreau’s Walden for a couple of years now after listening to a discussion about it in a podcast. I finally started reading it about a month ago and I think it is somewhat serendipitous considering the situation our planet is experiencing with the coronavirus pandemic. The book describes the author’s experience living alone for two years in a cabin he built in the woods (near Walden Pond) and he makes the case for living a more simple, intentional life. Living deliberately.

Seeing what this global pandemic has done already to our social lives, our work lives, and our economy, my perspective on life has shifted a bit in the past two weeks. I re-read a passage in the book that stuck out to me the first time. This time, it felt even more on point.

I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion… 

Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail. In the midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and storms and quicksands and thousand-and-one items to be allowed for, that a man has to live, if he would not founder and go to the bottom and not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, and he must be a great calculator indeed who succeeds. Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion… The nation itself, with all its so-called internal improvements, which, by the way are all external and superficial, is just such an unwieldly and overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and heedless expense, by want of calculation and a worthy aim, as the million households in the land; and the only cure for it, as for them, is in a rigid economy, a stern and more than Spartan simplicity of life and elevation of purpose. It lives too fast. Men think that it is essential that the Nation have commerce, and export ice, and talk through a telegraph, and ride thirty miles an hour, without a doubt, whether they do or not; but whether we should live like baboons or like men, is a little uncertain… 

Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life?

While Thoreau chose to live alone and distanced from others and we are being forced to do the same out of necessity, he seems to have come to some of the same conclusions that I have in a much shorter time.

Most of us live at such a fast pace with a “thousand-and-one” things to do. We live too fast and we cannot keep up. Maybe it helps us feel important. Or needed. Maybe it helps us to avoid feeling things like loneliness. What’s ironic for me, though, is that, because I keep myself so busy all of the time, I don’t always find time to maintain the things that should be important and meaningful: friendships, connecting with family, learning something new, pursuing a passion.

The last few weeks have forced us to slow down. My calendar has been cleared and, as Thoreau encouraged, I can count things I need to do on my ten fingers. There is no question that this time is hard and the source of much suffering. Our world will be different because of this. People are losing loved ones and livelihoods. Our global economy has shrunk. It’s not always easy to find the silver lining. In this case, if nothing else, perhaps we will all start to slow down, discover what is really important, and live more deliberately.

In short, I am convinced, both by faith and experience, that to maintain one’s self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if we will live simply and wisely.

-Henry David Thoreau