Living in the Moment
Words by Crystal James
My daughter took a photo of me at the beginning of the pandemic, standing on the staircase in a fitted black dress for our “Fancy Friday” day. Back when I put on my best dress, and best foot forward with my fresh haircut, and fresh outlook. After our Hawaiian vacation had me sun-kissed and March left me shaken. Smiling for the kids, through anxiety of the unknown. Having tea parties, wishing my tea bag fortune gave me optimism for tomorrow. When I had to remember the difference between epidemic and pandemic; isolation and quarantine. When I predicted this wouldn't be over by Christmas. When my newfound motivation in Hawaiian Rainbows had to be put on hold. When I had to change my perspective on so many things. When we all learned how to live on Zoom. When Tom Hanks was the only person we knew with “the Rona”. This was only the beginning and before an awful amount of death. Unfortunately, it appears my best black dress was appropriate. A sign of all the heartache to come in 2020.
This photo was before I spent every Tuesday in therapy reliving my childhood traumas. Before I learned how to distinguish all of my feelings apart and what my anxiety triggers are. Before I learned, I can do hard things. Before I learned, my feelings are valid. Before I learned, I have a voice. Before I realized my ability to see all of the worst outcomes and preparing for the other shoe to drop is actually my superpower. Before I learned 2020 would be the most challenging year for all of us.
My quarantine hair, now uneven, tickles my shoulders and I'm as white as the ghosts that haunt me. I look out my kitchen window to the street and see elders walking passed; wearing masks in a fight to stay alive, as the drivers passing them are still texting. Some people won't have learned anything from this year.
I want to feel everything that 2020 has given me. I don't want to pretend things are fine and lock away my thoughts and feelings. I don't want to distort the reality. My reality is swirling with the best days of my life and some of the worst days.
This past summer I learned the importance of sitting still and truly feeling in the moment. Basking in the sun as music danced in the quietness. Rediscovering my love for art. Noticing all of the little things in life, like my kids laughing at something across the yard. Or the adventures of finding snakes and bugs. The bravery that comes with riding without training wheels. The soothing crackle of a bonfire. The thrill of catching and releasing fireflies. The excitement of playing ghosts in the graveyard. Drinking under a full moon, with my love. The pain that comes the next morning when I realize I am no longer a teenager hopping fences. The spark of joy that lingers in the embers. I learned to live through the eyes of my children; run free and wild as often as I can.
In late summer evenings, a groundhog family-that my five year old daughter appropriately named "The Chuckers"- would quietly eat clover until spooked into the woods. Peeking through the brush, patiently waiting to feel safe enough to return. We are all groundhogs. Some of us, more patient than others; waiting to return.
I am happy to wait for safety. Peacefully watching my kids laugh, dance, and play. And on the days that aren't as peaceful, I breathe (sometimes yell) through the madness as it passes. This year has taken us on a ride, more bumpy than ever imagined. Years from now, each photograph, each caption, each journal entry, each poetry jingle, each art piece I captured and created will take me straight back to how I felt during this year and all that I experienced and learned while in quarantine.
This winter I will undoubtedly go stir crazy. I will struggle to get my kids bundled up in winter gear only to come back in quicker than it took to get them ready. I will enjoy each sip of hot cocoa only to regret the hyperactivity it gives the kids. I will silently hide in a closet as dark as the chocolate I will be slowly unwrapping and nibbling. I will regret missing workouts. I will sit and make art then regret not spending the day teaching vowels to my virtual Kindergartener. I will love the smell of baking cookies and regret the sugar rushing through them. I will wish my kids were in school. I will be thankful they are not.
When this is over, I will be searching for a new forward motion, while also hoping I can slip into this black dress and have a date with my husband while Grandma gets time in with these ever growing monsters. I will be searching for those Hawaiian rainbows, the embers, the fireflies, those moments of quiet bliss, all of the little moments I can live in.
When I reflect on the year 2020, I will remember how it broke me down, exposed my deepest fears, how it colored me blue, how it left me open, how it shed light on so many personal revelations, and how it forced me to live in the moment.
About the Author:
Crystal is a mother of two young children with a love for all forms of art. She enjoys dabbling in writing and mediums of charcoal, pastel, and stippling.
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