Transitions are Tricky

If my sons hear Lacuna Coil playing while I am making dinner, or before they get to the car, they know there must be a problem. My younger son calls it my emo-mood. I call it my way to get all the emotions out that I keep trapped within. I am a master dissociater. I hard-cope by completely suppressing difficult emotions. Yep. I have earned my PhD, for sure. But music helps me process my feelings. I am my fathers's daughter after all.

Both of my fathers used music as a way to process their emotions. My biological father's mood swings are the stuff of legend, but this is unverified because he and all his family have passed on already. I grew up hearing that in a family of string players, he would sit at the piano and pound out Chopin nocturnes when he was down.

My stepfather loved all kinds of music. He was pretty stoic except when it came to his dog. If Beethoven or Mahler were playing when I walked by his room, it was essential to steer clear; he was in a mood.

I am grateful for this link to both of my fathers. To put it another way, August has been particularly challenging, more so than usual. And, as a reminder, I take July off in writing so I can attend to my rest, but also model how rest is good for the soul, the body, and is absolutely vital.

Rest is resistance, they say, and I agree, but I think the rest is also the way we become awake in our frenetic society, one that thrives on our fear and loathing. I rest so I can choose my responses. I rest so I can remember why cultivating a sense of wonder, appreciating beautiful things, and creating art are so important.

Speaking of beauty:

I hope you have also had a chance to rest, at least somewhat, from the seemingly infinite barrage of shock media, breaking news, and the constant reminder that we are at the whim of Earth's new chaotic rhythm. Thank you, humans– because I am not going to blame the dinosaurs or other beings for what we endure today. They didn't use their natural resources as calling cards for wars.

We find ourselves on the precipice of so much change, and some of it is terrifying. Your terror may not be mine, but that does not render it any less scary. Many of us struggle to mentally make it to the end of the day (myself included), facing unique challenges that each of us encounters. And yet, as I pen these words, I did make it to the end of this day, and I want to use my words to help you get there too, in whatever way you can.

This August, we have not one but two seniors (!), one graduating from high school and one graduating from college. Come next August, there will be a bit of an empty nest here. I am feeling that anticipatory grief for that transition already, and I already experience anticipatory grief in spades for my husband's decline. However, there is so much joy wrapped up with the grief that I believe that joy becomes a balm for all the pain we get to experience while being alive. Pain may be a small price to pay for the sheer odds of our being alive on this blue dot in the expansive universe.

In my weariness of all the transitions dawning upon me now, this quote popped up for me today from one of my favorite sites for the last 20 years:

In the face of horrors visited upon our world daily, in the struggle to protect our loved ones, choosing to let in joy is a revolutionary act. Joy returns us to everything that is good and beautiful and worth fighting for. — Valarie Kaur

I am reinvigorated. I recommit to finding wonders for us all. Even if it is just the fleeting light at dusk.

May peace and joy find you on this lovely day!

~Be well,

🌊 Bridget