The other day my voice teacher said, “Give me less time, more consciousness. Don’t go through the motions.” She initially said this because I kept holding a half-note too long, but then she said, “Don’t go through ANY motions in your day.” That’s when it hit me that that’s all I’ve been doing for the past four years. And judging by the increase in pajama sales, that’s all a lot of us have been doing.
As much as I’ve tried to be strong and continue being a productive human through the pandemic and the deaths in our family, my go-to approach in dealing with it all has resulted in doing exactly that. Going through the motions.
Some of you might be thinking, “Lori needs to breathe and be more mindful.” Thanks, but I don’t have any deep breaths left to take, and I’m sick of that trendy, overused and marketed word — mindful. People are good at commercializing meaningful things. It’s like when I saw a 1000-piece Where the Crawdads Sing puzzle at Barnes & Noble. One of the best books I’ve read in a long time was immediately diluted when I spotted that puzzle, along with a matching tote bag and pouch. It killed the magic for me as much as seeing a mug with the words “Practice Mindfulness” on it at Target does.
Instead of going through the motions of working, exercising, running errands, signing up for yet one more thing on Sign-Up Genius and toting our children to more activities than a diplomat tackles in a day, why can’t we cut the fat and focus on what’s real? What matters? Don’t volunteer because it makes you look good. Don’t go to church to be seen. And don’t go out to dinner with friends just so you can post about it. Focus on the intangible things you want to get from these experiences.
Last August, I turned 50 and proceeded to celebrate this momentous, and frightening, occasion by going on a yoga retreat to Turks and Caicos. That’s right, I left The Tots with my husband and jetted off to the islands with my bathing suit, sun dress and the hope that I could somehow find a little peace.
Part of this experiment involved using my phone sparsely and spending as much time as possible in the ocean. On one of my first days there, I swam freestyle, floated on my back and did flips (forwards and backwards) for hours in the clear, turquoise water. My friend started calling me a mermaid. I wasn’t trying to burn calories (well, maybe a little), I was trying to wash away the pain and grief my father’s death left behind.
Dad died on November 5, 2021, and when the Hospice nurse woke me up to tell me he was gone, my body went numb. All I have done since that moment was break down his life and legacy into folders on my desk, sift through boxes of newspaper clippings and birthday cards, and cry when the right country song comes on the radio. Numb. That’s all I could muster.
My days in the ocean were different. I had energy. I had fun. I had intention. (Yes, I realize that’s also a trendy word, but it’s my word for 2023, so I’m going with it.) It felt exhilarating to open my eyes under the water, brush my feet on the sandy ocean floor and come up for air. Every time I thought I was ready to retire to the shore, I dove back in, vowing that I would take this feeling with me when I returned to the real world.
I’d like to say I succeeded in doing that, but a couple weeks after reentry, I was back to where I began, checking things off of my to-do list wearing a blindfold. There was no consciousness, just doing.
Over the last few days, I’ve heard about the deaths of two people. Both were students at my high school when I was there, both younger than me. I didn’t know them well, but does that matter? Hearing about someone your age leaving this world for one reason or another is jarring. You start punching numbers into your own calculator, wondering how much time you have left. It’s ironic how death brings numbness as much as it injects life. A wake-up call as potent as my voice teacher’s sage advice.
Today, I’m not doing back flips in the ocean. I’m not cutting pictures out of magazines for a vision board. And I’m not claiming to be enlightened. I’m giving less time and more consciousness. Fingers crossed this takes me where I need to go.