Unslumping Yourself is Not Easily Done

Savoring a breath of fresh air

Tis the Season

My extended family (and I) grew up in the Chicago suburbs. We celebrated the “traditional” holidays of the Midwest: New Years, Valentine’s Day, St. Paddy’s Day, Easter, Memorial Day, July 4th, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations. I’m grateful to have been raised at a time, place, and income level that permitted many of these holidays to be celebrated as joyous occasions filled with food, family, and (usually) gifts.

I wasn’t interested in the history of most holidays when I was a kid. In school, we were taught (what I learned later was) the White narrative of American history (the kind written by the “winners”…). I’m slowly unlearning/relearning and forming my own opinions about holidays and what they mean for me and my family. (It’s like a complicated game of cat’s cradle).

My parents were pretty much atheist/agnostic and indifferent about religion (thank god, Alanis, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or whoever). I think the box is called “Secular”? I feel fortunate they didn’t mandate any beliefs (except santa) or religious practices in our household, and they allowed me to explore my own interests at the library or at church with my neighbors. I explored my faith for a bit as a kid, and dabbled a little in Christianity. I was like, yeah, this is fun. Gather, eat, sing, share stories. I’m in. Until I wasn’t. My parents gave me space to grow my own way, and I’m so appreciative that I don’t have unquestionable beliefs to unbundle now as an adult and a parent.

If you haven’t seen “Parks & Recreation”, you might not understand what I mean when I refer to myself as “like Leslie Knope in Healthcare”

Where Is My Mind?

Without understanding the controversial background, dogma, misogyny, or bigotry around our holidays and celebrations, I grew up enjoying these traditions with my family. And I’ve continued to do so with my own children, with new rituals and celebrations sprinkled in. We gather — sing — eat — share stories. We live the “reason for the season” — and my agnostic (secular?) heart eats that shit up.

I don’t know what I am. What box I fit in. I loosely define myself as “agnostic” or “agnostic AF” or “vaguely agnostic”. I might go so far as to say atheist, because I don’t know (and sometimes don’t care to find out) if there might be a great deity or spiritual good energy in the universe flowing through us all. Sometimes I just feel it. And that’s when I feel agnostic. Or a touch Buddhist? Hindu? Islamic? Jewish? Yo no sé.

How about when I feel: Connected. At one. Serendipity. Synchronicity. God moments. I’m into that. I like the recognition that moments are special. Human. I like traditions, rituals, celebrations. I LIKE THEM. (Wow, I feel like I’m at a spiritual AA meeting acknowledging that I’m addicted to the feeling of celebration and joy; gratitude and surrender). I LIKE IT. Okay? Basically — my beliefs are “check all that apply” and I like a little bit of everything (some of the time).

What I don’t like is feeling like I don’t know how to celebrate anything right now.

This isn’t about Christmas. Or any of that other stuff. It’s about my dumpy attitude, blunted joy, and ongoing journey with depression and its annoying cousins: anxiety and neurodivergence. Can they just fuck off already, so I can have a taste of the joyful Jessie I remember from a few years ago? The one who could set a goal and see it through to the finish line? I’m getting there, actually, and that’s why I felt motivated to write tonight (small wins lead to a cascade of successes). I have been searching for comfort in my spirit, and only finding small doses in the most unexpected places. I’ve been unslumping myself, and thankfully feel like the light is returning this week.

I had the pleasure of watching a streaming charity event, including the incredibly generous and creative Jeff Tweedy (of Wilco and some other stuff).

My medicine: a very particular Sunday morning service, a few musicians, a smattering of humorists, and a handful of writers and podcasters. When I say something is medicine, I mean that it has fixed or alleviated something for me. It might not be covered by my insurance’s drug plan, but mama needs her fix and the energy and motivation to go get it. Yesterday, I got my medicine at an elementary school orchestra concert (a first for all the kids, thanks to the pandemic). Today I got it at a winter party at their school. Then on a snowy walk home from school. And now, sitting here writing about my feelings to the internet. (Hey man, don’t knock it till you try it).

Gather and Create

The pandemic has been indefinitely fucking with all traditions. My motto is, “Everything’s tentative till the moment it happens”. We’ve spent the last few years creating new ways to celebrate, or grasping for old ones and clinging to “the way we’ve always done it”. It hasn’t felt familiar in a while. As a creature of habit, I find this disconcerting.

Is it always a “weird time” to be a parent, or is now especially fucky? Part of me wants to just put on my blinders, bite my tongue, and lean in to the stuff part of Christmas. Buy whatever it takes to feel nonstop joy and pleasure (for the economy, you know). Numb it with capitalism and overspending (could that actually work?). The rest of me knows it’s not good medicine (for me, my family, or the planet).

So — with the pandemic moving slowly into the rearview mirror, it’s time to look forward.

What are the values I hold dear? Do I intend to share them with my children? Do I hope to instill these values into their hearts? Should I?

I value generosity — of spirit, time, resources. Having enough, and sharing the wealth.

I value kindness.

I value connection — real life, in-person, intimate, friendly, compassionate connection with real humans in real time. (I also value that the internet lets me connect virtually around the world very easily. But nothing can replace IRL for me).

I value differences, patience, and growth — learning, breathing, waiting, exploring.

I value creation — using our beautiful human gifts to give back to our life-giving planet and using that creative energy for good.

I value history — seeking to understand, identifying patterns, normalizing our shared experience, learning from past mistakes.

I value the future — planting seeds I may not see germinate, a path unfolding as it is walked.

Fresh Eyes

I am looking at my beliefs and traditions with fresh eyes. Finding the pieces that resonate with my values, and letting go of those that don’t.

I love to sing and make music, especially in groups. It brings me to tears.

I am called to the water, and I honor its life-giving power to hydrate, cleanse, warm, and cool.

I’m drawn to fire — warming, igniting, lighting the way, transforming what was — into ethereal smoke, scents, and ash of what is or will be.

I watch the seasons, and honor the lengthening of the day at winter solstice, and the equilibrium at the equinoxes. Welcoming the hardening of winter, and celebrating the thaw each spring.

And with fresh eyes, I look to 2023, the return of the light, and the opportunity to plant seeds of generosity, kindness, connection, diversity, patience, growth, and creation. I will honor the past and the future, while staying present here and now. I will create, sing, dance, write, speak, pour water, light fires, follow the spark of an idea.

Here’s hoping, anyway!

Love,

Jessie

A Note Before I go

When I opened my computer to type this post, I planned to share a draft of something I’m working on regarding Gingko Lane planning. What it became was, apparently, what I needed to parse out instead. I had an inspiring chat with a friend this morning (medicinal, you might say) about how to seek input from people in my community and get a pulse check on what is needed, and where. I’ll type it up during a lull sometime soon, but for now — that’s a wrap.

-Jessie