Tell Me Something Good

Will We Learn? by Rhonda Brewer

What will our world will look like on the other side of this social experiment we have all been living through for the last six weeks?  Will we be able to sustain any of the positive changes we have made?

 

Will families spend Friday nights cuddled on popcorn-strewn couches laughing and teasing or will we once again fill the dark theaters where talking is prohibited? 

 

Will we rush to answer the phone when friends and relatives call or will we let it go to voice mail?

 

Will we smile at neighbors from our porch as they walk around the block or will we hide behind our Ring doorbells and security doors?  

 

Will we spend weekends at the park grateful for the grassy areas in which to run or will we spend Saturday at the office catching up on our work?

 

Will we think twice about spontaneous trips to the mall or will we go back to filling our tanks and skies with pollutants?

 

Will we sing and dance around the kitchen while preparing the family meal or will we pay for pizza, a babysitter, and dinner out?

 

I fear most of our old habits will reappear.  We will go back to filling the spaces in our lives with things, people, and activities we don't love, need or even like.  But I hope that a few positive changes and habits stick around.  Maybe if we are willing to leave some spaces in our lives open and wait for things, people, and activities we love and truly bring us joy to fill them, we will be able to retain some of the lessons we have learned!

 

(The image at the top of the post can be found here.)

Validation Through Listening by Ken Shaw

A few years ago, I took a Santa job at a retail store. Their purpose was to allow the families to spend time with Santa and get some great pictures. There were many memorable people and children that came through this venue. One family came in with a girl around age six and her little brother who was around three. The young little lady was so well spoken and all she really wanted was to keep her brother calm and have a good family picture with them both. The little brother was not having it; he was in full blown fit mode. He was screaming ,scratching, hissing, but the sister was so patient and kind and soft spoken.

The mother started apologized profusely and explained to me that the boy was autistic. Listening to the mother and understanding how most autistic people react to stimuli gave me an idea. I do a little magic show with lights in my fingered gloves. I also at that moment changed my behavior as Santa. Most autistic people need to make the decision on their own without external pressures. Also, too much stimulation causes some autistic people much stress. And the only way they can deal with that stress is to lash out. My whole demeanor changed, I became very calm very stoic, (no extremely jerky movements or facial expressions), and my voice became very soft.

I worked with the older sister first to show the younger brother that I was not a threat. I perform a little bit of magic with the little lights in the fingers of my gloves which got the boy's attention. In just a few minutes the little boy wanted to be with Santa. We took many pictures. After the session was over, the mother came to me with tears in her eyes saying that was the first time her son has ever been able to take a picture with Santa.

It’s very important to listen to what people have to say. If we listen and hear and then modify our behavior, we can get much more accomplished.

Scaling Down by Kaden Sheffield

Just a few short weeks ago my life, like yours, was normal—full of trips around town to stores, movies, theaters, museums, restaurants, classes, parks, full of meetups with friends, full of plans for future outings. My extroverted, never-a-dull-moment, Red Bull American Dream seemed thoroughly on-track.

Then came The Virus, followed by The Shutdown, and suddenly everything changed.

Like everybody these days, I find myself scaling down my life, re-centering it closer to home, and while much that I enjoyed has been taken away, The Shutdown has given me one great gift: it’s given me permission to do less, and be more.

You’d think that, being retired, doing less would have become the norm by now, but as my friends who retired before me had told me, “You’ll soon find yourself doing more than you did before retirement.” They were right. There’s a sort of continual social pressure throughout our lives, it seems, to always be out there doing, running, socializing--life as one endless beer commercial. And so we hurry along out of habit, even in our Golden Years.

So I’ll admit, during the first week of The Shutdown I was restless. I found I was always thinking about the things I used to do outside my home, the places I used to go. At first I found the lack of places I “needed” to be and things I “should” do strange. But I’ve been surprised at how quickly they’ve ceased occur to me, and at how little I miss them, for the most part.

To be honest, because I’m lucky enough not to have to play a front-line role in this pandemic (so far), my life seems to have actually improved. Each day, I wake when I wake, get up when I feel like it, put on whatever old comfortable thing I’d be ashamed for anyone to see me in, and begin the bliss of puttering—wandering about my house and yard, doing whatever comes to mind. I read, write, play and compose music, draw, paint, garden, pet my cats. Sometimes I just think. Bliss.

I’m also started doing things that if you’d asked me a few short weeks ago I would not be doing.

I’m reaching to the back of the pantry, pulling out ingredients and spices long neglected, searching for recipes to use them in. I’m not sure I’m cooking any better, but at least I’m cooking more interestingly.

I’m reading and binge-watching things I’d have eschewed a few weeks ago as “useless trash,” and loving it. I’m freeze-framing head shots of my favorite newscasters’ broadcasts from home, checking out their décor and especially the book titles on their shelves, shamelessly nosy and judgmental.

I’m wasting time relearning “cool skills” I had as a kid: whistling, yo-yoing, juggling sock balls over the laundry basket as I fold the wash.

But amid my new petty banalities also blooms something more. I find myself storying—remembering, creating, crafting, preserving and sharing—and having deeper conversations than I used to, both virtually with friends and family, and in person with my husband. Even with myself. The gift of time, quiet and solitude allow me to converse with myself in ways I haven’t since my college years, when, sitting under a blazing red tree under a blindingly blue Indian Summer sky I wrote this:

We unspool into life, slack,

Responsive to the slightest breeze.

Then, slowly at first, we are stretched, pulled

Tighter and tighter, until we become

One thin line, and we never again know

Whether the breeze is blowing or not.

I sensed even then what modern life would bring, would do—and it did, at least to me.

But now I find “the slack is back.” Life has cut us all a little slack, even as it stretches us to the breaking point. I think we used to call this collection of odd symptoms “real life.” I like it, and I don’t think I want to go back to the way things were before.

Patience Pays by Mario Avent

Once there was a king who held a contest for someone to be his personal assistant. Several villagers came to fill the position. The King gave them all the same task:  they had to take a pot and empty the lake with it. “There is one catch,” said the King, “The pot has a hole in it, and you cannot cover or plug the hole. You must use the pot as is.”

Many of the villagers left at the sight of the pot. Other villagers tried but left from the frustration of water leaving the hole. But there was one man that kept at the task. He filled the pot with water and took it on land, watching the water fall to the ground. He became frustrated but he kept repeating his action, filling the pot with water and letting fall to the ground. Eventually, his efforts paid off and when all the water was gone out of the lake, he noticed a huge shiny diamond at the bottom of the lake. The man gave the diamond to the King. The King gave the diamond to the man as a gift for his patience. The King also gave the man the position as his personal assistant.

In times of crisis, the most important thing we need to learn is patience. We cannot control what will happen in life. Like the man, sometimes we are given a pot with a hole in it, and we must persevere even when we are frustrated. Face with frustration, and stuck at home, I decided to start gardening.

I got sod, lavender, and other types of plants and flowers. My favorite flower that I purchased was a hibiscus. I love saying the name hibiscus and tasting it in food and drinks. Hibiscus makes me happy. When I bought the hibiscus, I saw buds, but no flower. I told myself to water and watch. After two weeks, every other flower I had bloomed except the hibiscus, and I was getting frustrated.

As I sat on the couch frustrated, I read the news of people protesting about being quarantined because of the COVID -19 virus. I thought to myself, “How ridiculous. Why can’t these people stay in their houses, enjoy their families and environment, and just wait?” Then I went outside and watered the grass and garden. I noticed that my hibiscus still had not bloomed, and I thought to myself, just enjoy it for the beautiful flower it is and wait.

The very next day my diamond shone; the hibiscus bloomed. I am so excited for the others to flourish as well, but I will be patient.

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. Lao Tzu